


closet cases and one night stands or what the hell is bravery anyway

by norgbelulah



Series: The Continuing Adventures of Deputy Tim and TJ Hammond, the son of two Presidents [1]
Category: Justified, Political Animals
Genre: Addiction, Closeted Character, Crossover, Drunk Texting, Dysfunctional Family, Families of Choice, Homophobia, Intoxication, Long-Distance Relationship, M/M, Past Suicidal Thoughts, Political Campaigns, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Religious Conflict, Sexual Content, Texting
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-24
Updated: 2015-03-02
Packaged: 2018-01-20 14:29:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 66,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1513883
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/norgbelulah/pseuds/norgbelulah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Tim was in the Army when September 11th happened and they sent him to the shit in Afghanistan after that so he couldn't really keep up with the Hammond kid anymore.  He lost track of him, lost interest in tabloid bullshit too, and when he got back TJ was mostly out of the limelight.</p><p>Now, his mother is President and he's coming to Lexington to talk to some kids about not doing drugs and Tim is on his protection detail.</p><p>It's freaking surreal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [jaegerpilot](https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaegerpilot/gifts).



Tim was in Basic when TJ Hammond was outed by the press.

They caught the poor kid in a public bathroom with some college boy at seventeen. There were pictures. It was trashy and awful and there was a rain of bullshit from all over the country on top of this sad-eyed rich-boy. It made Tim feel bad. 

And it reminded him to be careful. Bud Hammond was the one who signed Don't Ask Don't Tell into law.

The hypocritical motherfucker.

Once, maybe a year later, on a handshake line at a gala event, someone asked TJ what he thought of that, and he'd said, blank-faced, "No comment."

Tim was in the Army when September 11th happened and they sent him to the shit in Afghanistan after that so he couldn't really keep up with the Hammond kid anymore. He lost track of him, lost interest in tabloid bullshit too, and when he got back TJ was mostly out of the limelight.

Now, his mother is President and he's coming to Lexington to talk to some kids about not doing drugs and Tim is on his protection detail.

It's freaking surreal.

 

TJ wasn't really into the sobriety talks.

But he'd made a deal with his mother to play it straight and not do the night club promotion anymore. There was a surprising amount of cash in public speaking if said mother was the President of the United States of America. 

And really, sobriety was the only thing he could speak about at this point, so he was stuck with it if he wanted a thousand dollar paycheck for each engagement with what few--useful--skills he'd acquired in his life.

He liked the kids anyway. They always came up with some creative questions. He'd get the odd one about his sexuality, but the issue mostly flew over the heads of the the fifth graders and the middle schoolers he usually talked to. And, surprisingly, if they did know about it, they were fucking cool about it too. 

TJ thought it was a good generation, this one coming up. 

He liked them a hell of a lot more than the kids he'd gone to school with. Though, he'd mostly got icy stares rather than verbal or physical vitriol as a teenager, because of his father, and, of course, the secret service agents.

The agents, who were still hanging around, now that Mama was back in the White House. Along with a bunch of other officers from various government organizations whenever he went anywhere in the South, and sometimes the North too, because of yahoo white supremacy groups and the goddamn Tea Party or whatever. 

He thought he'd be rid of these guys by now. He'd liked it when Mama was just Secretary of State and he was just a regular guy...whose face most of the free world could recognize.

He puts a smile on it for the kids, though. He puts a smile on it for Lexington, Kentucky. He shakes everyone's hand, he says the easy words about saying no and the harder words about messing up your life, making bad choices, alienating your family and all that shit. He listens to their polite applause and answers their questions.

But the whole time he's looking at the blond in the Marshals jacket, positioned at the door at the back of the auditorium. He's talking to the kids and he's looking at this guy and he's thinking, _I'm going to talk to you_.

 

TJ Hammond looks like he's sleepwalking.

Sure, he's saying all the right things to these kids. He's answering their questions reasonably and fairly responsibly, with just a trace of ironic almost self-deprecating humor. But his eyes look sort of dead. Or maybe Tim is projecting. He’s pretty far away from the auditorium stage, by the rear doors. It’s not like he can really see what’s happening. He’s supposed to be watching the exits anyway.

TJ keeps looking at the back of the room though, right by where Tim is, and when he does, his smile widens. Tim thinks maybe it’s how he gets through it, without looking these kids in the eyes, just straight ahead, like through a sight. Now he’s really projecting.

When the thing is over TJ sort of vaults off the stage and makes a beeline up the aisle, which was not the security plan Tim had been briefed on. TJ reaches him and there’s more of a spark in his eyes than Tim’s seen all day. He says, “You packing?”

It takes a second for Tim to realize it’s him TJ Hammond is talking to. “Yes--sir,” he says, almost forgetting the honorific as he steps to the side. He turns his head, watching the kids file out the side doors and three secret service agents, looking a little pissed, following their detail up the aisle from the stage.

TJ’s lips quirk into a smile at the corners. He looks a lot like like a pleased cat. “Of course you are,” he says. “You’re with me then, I want a smoke before I have to do it again.” He meets Tim’s eyes then, and the agents haven’t quite reached them. Tim realizes he’s waiting for something only as he moves his hands towards the door in an “after you” sort of motion.

Tim goes through the fire doors and out into the sunlight before the President’s son, hand on his sidearm, watchful, and thinking, _what the fuck?_

 

The blond Marshal is clearly flustered by the unexpected change in plan, maybe even by TJ himself, which is interesting. Carter and Lopez and Gregg are right behind them so as they walk out into the small courtyard with one tree and a bench that TJ does not sit down on, he takes out his crushed pack of cigs and offers one to the Marshal.

The Marshal--TJ’s going to need a name soon--is too busy looking for White Supremacists to notice TJ’s proffered smokes until he coughs politely, capturing those pretty blue eyes. The Marshal’s eyebrows rise, surprised, apparently enough to chirp, “Those’ll kill you, you know,” then furrow immediately, cringing, probably because of the suicide attempt.

“Uh, sorry,” he grunts, “ _sir_.” Definitely the suicide attempt then. And TJ’s going to have to fix that “sir” thing soon. 

He pulls a cig out and props it between his lips. He holds out his hand. “TJ,” he says through the cig. “And you are?”

The Marshal’s eyes are wide now, but he gamely takes TJ’s hand, squeezing firmly as he answers, “Deputy U.S. Marshal Gutterson.” At TJ’s swiftly expectant look, he adds, “Tim.”

“Great,” TJ, says. “Nice to meet you, Tim.”

Tim is staring at him now. He’s got the deer in the headlights look most gay men get when they first meet him. TJ’s not sure how he pegged this guy so fast, but he doesn’t have any doubt about it now. “You too,” Tim says and he smiles.

That’s really all that TJ wanted anyway.

 

TJ Hammond wants to know Tim’s name.

TJ Hammond is standing there, next to Tim, smoking a cigarette like he’s goddamn post-coital. TJ Hammond shook Tim’s fucking hand.

Tim draws that hand across his forehead, feeling like he’s about to get a stress headache, and keeps his eyes on the horizon, scanning it for something everybody knows isn’t coming. Lexington’s too urban and the chatter they’d picked up before TJ arrived was disparate and mostly coming from stupid kids who don’t know what they’re talking about. Tim was only there, he’d found out, because one of TJ’s regular agents had come down with food poisoning or something.

“Anything fun to do around here?” TJ asks, taking a drag from his cigarette. He’s cool about it, still smiling slightly, and his eyes are heavy-lidded, goddamn bedroom eyes. They’re stuck on Tim like glue.

Tim gets a sinking feeling suddenly, the one he always gets when he’s at work and he’s thinking someone _knows_.

He shakes his head, forces his eyes away from TJ fucking Hammond. “I wouldn’t really know,” he says. “I don’t get out much.”

TJ smiles. He takes another drag. “We’ll have to fix that.”

Fuck.

 

TJ’s got about a half hour before his next speech to the kids. 

The school is too big to have them all in the auditorium at once, so they break them up for shit like this and TJ gets twice the paycheck. It suits him fine, he’s got the whole thing down pat now, he’s done it enough. His mouth knows the words, like his fingers know the keys on a piano. 

All the auditoriums look the same too, like the black and white keys, wherever he goes. Dougie worries about him, thinks the monotony will push him to backslide, and it might still, but he feels like he’s on an even keel these days--even enough anyway. 

It was hard to go up there and talk about sobriety to these fresh-faced white kids--okay, not _all_ of them were white--when he knew he was just going to walk off the stage and do a line in the bathroom. He did that for about a week in the beginning before the guilt and the hypocrisy got to him so much he just switched to booze and only booze and only at night, or on the plane.

Sometimes TJ’s whole life feels like a line of addendums, of statements followed by exceptions, by excuses. Whatever, though. His slow-moving cross-country tour is letting him get a really good view of the club scene in every major American city. He thinks he might consult when he gets back to DC long term, after he’s finished with this bullshit, and the next election--Jesus, he’s going to have to get ready for that soon.

Not wanting to think too hard about the bleak election season future, he turns back to Tim, the flustered Marshal. “How’d you get into this line of work?” he asks, flicking some ash at their feet.

Tim’s still looking at him like he might be having some kind of hallucination, but his back stiffens slightly as he answers, “Army Rangers.”

Well, shit.

“Where’d they send you?” TJ asks, since Tim wasn’t forthcoming. He burns through the cig and lights another one with the cherry. Tim’s staring at him like he’s cutting his wrists by degrees. TJ sort of hates that bullshit, he’s an addict, if he can’t snort coke, you better believe he’s going to fucking chain smoke.

There’s something that might be sad for them both in Tim’s eyes when he replies, “Afghanistan.”

TJ nods. He’s the right age for it. “What’d you do there?”

“Sniper,” Tim bites out and he looks a little mad now.

TJ grins, impressed. “Sorry for the third degree. I only thought--since you already probably know everything there is to know about me...” He shrugs and adds, “I just like to be on the same page with people. Especially when they’re as cute as you.”

Tim’s expression, which had been bordering on a tight-lipped smile, totally shuts down.

The only thing TJ can think is, _goddammit_.

 

“Are you in the closet, Tim?” TJ asks him. He looks sort of pissed. Tim has no idea why. 

Fuck fuck fuck.

How did he even know?

“No, I’m not--I'm--” He starts to say, but then he can't. 

He _can’t_ lie to TJ Hammond about being gay. 

Jesus, this guy is like the poster child--no the fucking sainted martyr--for gay kids in the 90s. The shit he went through--publicly outed by the press, condemned and derided and “prayed for” by the religious right, talked over endlessly by the ever-hungry, ever growing 24 hour news cycle. All when he was seventeen goddamn years old. 

It was like what every gay kid--even Tim before he left home--went through times a fucking _thousand_ , mirrored and exacerbated, and Tim can’t even _imagine_ lying to him.

He licks his lips and opens his mouth but he can’t say it either. The truth. No, of course not. He throws a significant look TJ’s way and shakes his head, mute and stupid. He can’t even breathe the same air as this guy, he's such a fucking coward.

He glances back at the agents, like that’s some kind of excuse for not answering the question.

“They can’t hear you,” TJ says, and Tim can’t tell if he’s mad or not. “They wouldn’t say anything even if they could.” He shifts close to Tim and Tim feels himself stiffen, can’t stop himself from holding his breath.

“I’m not going to touch you,” TJ fucking Hammond says. “I’m sorry.”

Tim shakes his head. “No, _I’m_ sorry, I--it’s hard to--” It’s hard to open up when all he’s ever done is not tell.

“Don’t,” he sort of shrugs, but the motion seems too sincere for that. His eyes are kind as Tim warily meets them, but he’s not smiling anymore. He’s closed off too. “Everybody’s got a reason, Deputy. You just have to get a better reason to step out.” He laughs, shortly. “And hey, I shouldn’t even talk. I never had to make that choice.”

He doesn’t say it bitterly, really. He almost says it like he thinks he’s the one who shouldn’t breathe _Tim’s_ air, like he’s the one who had it easy.

TJ Hammond looks into Tim’s eyes and says, “I never had to be brave.” 

He tosses his butt on the ground, steps on it, grinding his black leather boot once in an efficient, practiced motion, and walks away.

Tim keeps his eyes on the horizon and tries to slow his heart rate down.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which several phone calls are made and everyone is sort of dumb about everything.

Tim’s stress headache is a thing that is happening.

It’s not just on the horizon now, it’s full blown and it sucks. He frowns at his computer as the work day rolls to an end. After TJ’s speech was over, he high-tailed it out of there fast, seeing a searching look in the President’s son’s eyes as he got off the stage again.

Tim cleared it with the head Secret Service agent, who looked like he knew _exactly_ what was going on, as he said, “Sure, we got this, son,” and Tim tried not to look too relieved as he climbed into his SUV and drove away.

Rachel's looking at him like she wants to ask something, but she's also looking at Raylan like she doesn't want him around when she asks it. Tim's saved from having to navigate the two of them with his aching head by his phone ringing. 

It's more of a frying pan and fire situation than anything because the person on the other line is Carter, TJ Hammond's senior Secret Service agent.

Tim is sure to be very polite.

"Listen, Gutterson," the far older, a little bit graying, but hard-eyed agent says. "I want you to know, I'm not a secretary."

"O-ookay," Tim replies.

"I also want you to know that Mr. Hammond will be at The Backroom this evening. He wanted you to meet him for dinner, but pretty much abandoned that idea when you booked it so fast earlier. Also, son, I'm not a secretary."

Tim's scrambling. He has no idea what to say. "Y-yessir," he blurts, about the secretary thing, responding automatically to the tone of this guy's voice. It screams ex-soldier and higher up than Tim at that. "I--I'll consider it, sir."

There's a sigh across the line. "You're really making this too difficult for yourself, kid. TJ is good people. We--me and the other guys who are _also_ not secretaries--like to make sure he's doing okay. Do you get me?"

"Yessir," Tim says. He really does get it.

"Well, maybe you can make things a little easier for _him_ , huh?"

Tim grinds his teeth. "Understood. I said, I'll consider it."

Now, there's a huff. "Suit yourself, soldier."

Tim hangs up the phone. Fuck.

"So," Rachel says. Shit, Raylan is gone from his desk. "How did it go?" There's a weird twinkle in her eye.

Tim's heart is running a goddamn marathon right now. "Why are you asking like that?" Tim hisses across the empty desk.

Rachel's eyes widen. "Hey now," she replies, brows furrowing in concern. "Okay," her voice goes smooth and even. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing," he spits, moving shit around on his desk to look busy and to not have to look her in the eye. "Nothing is wrong."

"So it went okay?" He glances her way. She's leaning over in her chair, chin sticking out and brows still furrowed, like what she really wants to say is _What the fuck, Tim?_

What the fuck, indeed.

"What went okay?" Raylan asks, coming back to his desk and sliding between them, coffee cup in hand.

"Nothing," Tim says again and Rachel huffs. "The TJ Hammond thing. At the school. It went _fine_ ," he emphasizes at Rachel. 

"Could have told you that," Raylan, the motherfucker, says into his cup. "Nobody was going to bite that off. Everybody loves that kid these days."

Rachel gives Raylan a look. "Everybody?" she asks.

He shrugs. "Yeah. He's a sweetheart. I wish Art put me on it." He sounds serious despite the defensiveness in his tone. "I woulda told him to screw Glenn Beck and all those journalists. Man, that shit from a couple years ago--"

"I have to go," Tim says suddenly. He can't listen to this. He wishes Raylan had gone. He almost laughs, thinking about what _that_ might have looked like, but chokes it down as he grabs his keys. "See you guys tomorrow."

He needs to go for a goddamn run.

 

TJ is lying on the hotel bed, feeling a little morose, when his phone rings.

He grabs for it, keeping his eyes closed for a second, willing it to be the stupid cute Marshal--even if it makes no sense that it could be.

His number's unlisted. And it's Nana anyway.

"Hello, you've reached the most pathetic person on the planet," he says into the receiver. "Care to make my day any worse?"

"Oh, no one likes a wallower, TJ," she admonishes. 

"No one likes a drunk either," he retorts sullenly. He rolls to the side and plays with the dangling threads on the comforter.

There's a pregnant pause over the line before she says, "Well, I guess you haven't hit the sauce yet. Usually it perks you up a little."

"Ugh, that was so mean, Nana. I'm sorry." He really is the worst.

"I've heard worse. Now, what's wrong, honey?"

TJ shakes his head. "You're going to think I'm ridiculous."

"Ha," she barks. "Like I don't already. Out with it. Out!"

"I met a boy and I like him a lot, but he doesn't like me so now I'm sad." 

Clearly there was more to it than that, but TJ knew how to boil things down to their essence. Addict. Drunk. Fuck-up. Rich boy. Child. He wears those words like boy scout badges. He says them before anybody else can, just like Nana always has.

"Who doesn't like you?" Nana asks, astounded. "How can this boy not like you, my darling, you're America's new gay best friend."

TJ groans. "Oh _God_. Don't say shit like that."

"Kelly Ripa did, I think," she says, pausing to take a sip. TJ can hear the ice clinking in her glass. "Or as good as. Now tell me about this boy, so I can tell you why you're too good for him."

 

Tim runs five miles. He runs faster than he usually does. He runs until his legs hurt as much as his head does. Until it's all a blur of good and bad pains. Until his mind clears of TJ Hammond.

When he's finished, it all comes back again anyway and he thinks he'll throw up if he runs anymore. So he goes home to shower.

He's got a missed call from Rachel when he finally checks his phone, hair still wet, and the rest of him wrapped in a towel. He calls her back, grudgingly, knowing she's just worried about him.

Rachel is the only one who knows. 

As far as Tim knows anyway, as far as Lexington goes. People from home know. His mother guesses and doesn't talk about it. Three one night stands in the past six months know, but they don't know his name--well, his last name anyway. One person from the Army knows and he's not even going to think about that. 

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she asks as soon as the call connects.

Tim sits down heavily on his bed. "I think you've got the list better memorized than I do at this point," he replies.

She laughs a little at that, though he's sure neither of them think it's funny. "Now, for the third time, how did it go today?"

"Um." Tim doesn't even have an answer anymore. "TJ Hammond thinks I'm cute?"

"What?" Now she laughs a lot. "Man, has he got terrible taste."

Tim cracks a smile. "Tell me about it." He sobers a little and confesses. "I got freaked out because he apparently has this hypersonic gaydar and like...ran out of there before he could actually ask me out."

"You think he was really going to?" The guy does have a reputation for being a flirt.

"His Secret Service agent told me as much over the phone. He wants me to go to that shitty club near UK and meet up with him."

"With the agent?"

"Shut up. No with--ugh, with fucking TJ Hammond."

“And you’re _not_ going?”

Tim blinks. Once, twice and thinks _TJ fucking Hammond_. Thinks about that cat-like grin and the way he lit his second cigarette. Then he says, “Jesus Christ. Why the fuck aren’t I going?”

“You’re an idiot, Tim,” Rachel says, in that calm way that makes him want to be honest. “No one’s going to be mad.”

“It’ll be like the bartender,” he says, ignoring the second thing she said entirely. “Like the--oh shit, the banker?”

“The accountant,” she says, though her voice is quiet, resigned. 

“It won’t be any different,” Tim tells her.

“Someday it has to be, Tim. Or I don’t know what you’re gonna do.”

Tim smiles. “I’ll be fine,” he says. “Thanks, Rachel.”

 

TJ has the VIP section, a room completely covered in red carpet, even on the walls, to himself. Lopez and Gregg are at the door at the bottom of the stairs and Carter’s standing at attention by the large open window overlooking the dancefloor.

He’s already gotten a look at the place. It’s trashy in a fun, college sort of way. But it’s not anything he would ever expect to tell a promoter to try and emulate, unless they were going for a True Blood vibe or something.

He’s had two shots in quick succession and is taking long pulls from a large glass of bourbon. It’s probably the only good thing about Kentucky at this point. He’s feeling a good amount of numb, which makes him smile. The music is loud and nondescriptly upbeat. 

This is what TJ loves about a club. Like the auditoriums and the black and white keys, take away the shit on the walls the color of the carpets, the lights, they’re all the same too. It’s easy to disappear in them. TJ can be the same as he ever was, even when things change. 

Even when stupid cute gay snipers don’t stick around for three seconds so TJ can talk to them again.

TJ leans back on the couch and pouts at Carter. “Did you know he was a sniper? Shit, that’s sexy.”

Carter shrugs. “Is one, son. They put him on the SWAT down here sometimes too. He’s a regular social butterfly, that one,” he says dryly. 

TJ huffs a laugh. 

Carter puts his finger to his ear piece and something flickers across his face. It just might have been the beginnings of a smile. He looks at TJ, more directly than he almost ever does, as it’s his job to watch out for shit coming _at_ TJ. “Snipers are trained to be solitary, Mr. Hammond. It’s a hard habit to break. You can guess there’s some other habits a guy like him picked up along the way.”

TJ frowns. “Yeah,” he says slowly. He’s not an idiot. He saw the terrified look in Tim’s eyes, when he realized TJ knew. It was instinctual, almost primal.

Carter shrugs again, but now looks even more pleased. “Just go easy on him, kid.”

“Oh my God,” TJ cries, realizing. “No way.” His smile breaks fast across his face and his feet are on the floor and racing across the room before he even thinks about it. He nearly stumbles on the shitty carpet, catching himself on the ledge as he searches the crowd. “Is he here? Shit, there he is!”

Deputy US Marshal Tim Gutterson is just walking through the door. He’s wearing a blue flannel shirt, left open to reveal a white tank top, and some not so skinny jeans. He’s clearly still packing and TJ’s knuckles are white he’s gripping the ledge so hard.

He turns fast to Carter. “Ohmigod, you _called_ him. Carter, Jesus, I could kiss you!” He presses close to his glorified bodyguard who’s mumbling, “Shit, son, please don’t,” and gives him a big hug instead. “You’re the _best_.”

Carter rolls his eyes. “I know you’re gonna do whatever the hell you want. Just...remember what I said.”

“ _Of course_ ,” TJ gushes, but he’s not even thinking about it anymore. He sprints down the stairs and into the crowd. Oh, Lopez is going to be _pissed_. He hates it when they have to chase after TJ. He doesn’t care though, he’s knows exactly where he’s going.

Tim’s gorgeous blue eyes widen when TJ practically runs into him, fingers grabbing at his cute as fuck idea of clubwear. 

“Hi,” Tim says, blinking uncertainly and holding himself extremely stiff next to TJ’s ranging, swaying closeness.

TJ can’t even try to keep it casual anymore. He’s grinning from ear to ear. “You really dress to impress,” he deadpans.

Tim’s eyebrows shoot up. “I’m a simple man, with simple tastes.”

“I love it,” TJ tells him and watches that sink into those baby blues. Shit, he’s wound tight as...something fucking tight. “Can I get you drunk?” he asks.

“Please do.”

TJ takes him by the hand, cackling, and leads him up the stairs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to everyone for the overwhelming response to this fic! I haven't felt so engaged with my readers or with something that I've written in this fandom for a while (new fandom notwithstanding). 
> 
> Thanks again to jaegerpilot/freezerbraun for the idea and the continued encouragement. I hope you like how stupid these dumb babies are being about how head over heels in love they are. :P


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everybody is drunk and Tim does something dumb. Also, other fun things.

"So do you like it?" Tim asks him once he has a drink in his hand. The bass is loud at their feet.

TJ doesn’t answer right away. He seems distracted by something, but he’s looking right at Tim. "Oh, the club? Yeah. Its kind of kitschy, don't you think?"

"Well, I meant the public speaking deal. But, yeah, now that you mention it, I agree." 

TJ smiles into his drink like he totally knew that the whole time but Tim's not so sure.

"Its fine," TJ says in a tone that gives Tim the impression that he’s already bored with this part of the conversation. "I gotta capitalize on the whole White House thing one way or another. Dougie," he laughs, “he did it the right way. As usual, mine is the fucked up, half-assed way." 

He shrugs. "The kids are cool. Most of the time. I think they're just excited to be out of class. All those bullshit tests." He turns inquiring eyes on Tim. "What about you?"

Tim smiles. "I love it. My job, I mean. It’s, ah, really fun. Catching… um… bad guys." The way TJ’s watching him, so intently, is really messing with Tim's equilibrium. Usually he can make it through a goddamn sentence without stumbling, even on dates. Or whatever the hell this was. "And it makes me feel like not everything I learned in the Army was all for a bunch of bullshit, you know?"

TJ takes another sip of his drink. His smile turns a little bitter, but it’s drunkenly wide and somehow really appealing. Infections. Like a little kid. “That’s how I feel about most of the shit I learned in boarding school.”

“What about college? Didn’t you go to Georgetown?”

“For concert piano. For one semester.” TJ’s brows lift like they’re searching for humor in those statements and Tim feels like an idiot.

“Sorry. I was… out of the country,” he says and they both laugh, a little desperately. Tim scrambles to change the subject. He takes a large gulp from his glass and the alcohol burns as he asks, “What do you like to do then? What do you want to be doing?”

TJ’s smile turns strained and Tim can tell he doesn’t want to talk anymore. But Tim’s not drunk enough to even think about making a move to do anything else. 

He looks at TJ with a buried plea in his eyes and TJ responds by leaning closer as he answers, “Well, I was doing the night club stuff before Mama ran again.” He stops suddenly, considering something as he looks into Tim’s eyes. “All that bullshit, though. Getting the money together. Getting the investors and the...the VIPs--it was always a means to an end. One that I wasn't really aware of until it was happening. And when it didn’t work out… you remember when I was hospitalized? Right before Air Force One crashed?”

Tim goes very still. He does remember that. The press said it was an allergic reaction to something. Tim always wondered--

TJ leans forward after him, grabbing at his free hand. His fingers are warm, lean and strong, and Tim doesn’t know what his face looks like. TJ says, “No, no, I mean. It wasn’t like December. I mean, I overdosed. Not on purpose. Oh, Jesus.” He shakes his head, pulling his hands back hastily. He runs a hand through his hair. Tim feels the loss. “What the fuck am I doing? I shouldn’t have--that’s like Being A Hammond 101.”

Tim frowns. “You mean, not trusting anybody?”

TJ looks away. His eyes drift back to the half empty bottle. He pours more bourbon into both their glasses.

Tim’s not really sure what he’s after. What he really wants out of this. But, he thinks back to the time when he really paid attention to what was going on with TJ Hammond, when he really cared a lot about what happened to him. 

After a minute of silence, Tim reaches over to clasp TJ’s fingers in his own and he says very quietly, “I enlisted because I thought I wouldn't come back.”

TJ looks up at him fast, eyes wide and wounded.

“Back before all that bullshit, I used to read about you. It always made me glad to think that you'd be okay. That people were there for you. That feeling the way that I did wasn't going to happen for you.”

TJ laughs shortly. “You must feel pretty dumb now,” he says.

Tim shakes his head. His fingertips pull at TJ’s--TJ fucking Hammond, Jesus--skin. “I feel wiser.” His smile quirks self-deprecatingly. “At least a little wiser than an 18 year-old with a deathwish.” TJ chuckles and tightens his fingers around Tim’s. Tim feels compelled to say, “I’m so--”

But TJ cuts him off with a swift kiss, jarring Tim’s glass and spilling the brown liquid across his knuckles. TJ’s kiss is desperate, like so much of the rest of him, and when he pulls back slightly, he breathes to Tim’s lips, “I don’t want to talk anymore.”

There’s a loud cough from the corner and TJ giggles madly. “Shit, sorry Carter.” His eyes don’t stray from Tim’s. “Secret Service discourages me from having sex in public places.”

Tim grins. “Oh yeah?” He shifts a little underneath TJ. There’s heat between them and the friction is nice over the buzz Tim is feeling. The endorphins and the booze are hitting him hard now.

“They kind of took all the shit for my outing,” he says, almost sheepishly.

“Sir, if you like, we can pull the car up and take you and your guest back to the hotel.”

“I would like,” he murmurs. TJ smiles so wide his nose scrunches up in his face, and he really does look like a boy. Tim leans forward, without conscious thought, and kisses him again. They kiss and touch until TJ groans a little and Carter has to cough again. Tim feels bad, so he’s the one who pulls away.

“Sir, the car is out front,” Carter says.

“Awesome. Let’s get the fuck out of here.”

 

Carter goes out ahead of them, TJ trailing him, holding onto Tim’s hand the same way he had when he arrived. Tim’s fingers are hard, calloused, TJ likes to imagine from his goddamn sniper’s rifle. Shit, that is sexy. 

TJ grins and draws his hand up and even with his hip, so Tim’s hand will brush it, so he’ll have to move up close in the crowd. TJ loves walking through a crowd. It makes him feel like he could get lost.

He’s disappeared into more than one of them in his time.

He was such a selfish little punk, always high as fuck and trying to get everyone but himself into trouble. He thinks Carter used to hate his guts. He’s not really sure when that changed, but he loves that the man was willing to stick his neck out and reel Tim in. He thinks that’s just amazing.

Carter turns back to them, his hand up to his ear. “Press is here,” he half-shouts. “Not a lot, but they've got a camera.”

Something sinks in TJ’s gut when Tim drops his hand. Fuck. TJ almost forgot.

TJ sees them coming. The crowd had no idea who he was before the camera, with it’s large bulb pointing right at him, showed up. Now people’s heads are turning their way. Tim suddenly moves up behind him. His hand clamps down on TJ’s shoulder.

“What--” he turns to ask. They’re almost at the door.

“Step back, sir,” Tim says in his ear and it takes a slow moment for TJ to realize Tim’s not talking to him. “Ma’am, let us through.”

“Oh my God,” he says, stumbling forward and out of Tim’s grasp. He’s looking at the crowd, resolutely not at TJ. A flash bulb goes off and Tim flinches. “Motherfucker.”

Carter grabs TJ now. “Keep walking,” he says.

“No, he--”

“Not here, son.”

Fuck. TJ is so pissed.

It’s hot on the back of his neck and in his eyes. He feels dizzy and sick. He wipes at his mouth, where he’d still been feeling Tim’s lips. He was a great fucking kisser. Slow, but still confident. Sweet.

“Fuck you. Fuck you,” he mutters. 

“Think about it for a minute,” Carter is telling him. “He just got thrown to the wolves.”

Not by TJ, though. And it feels like a betrayal. Like a stab in the back. He shakes his head.

“He’s scared.”

“Fuck him.” They make it to the car finally. TJ slides in and feels Tim climb in after him.

Carter’s not the driver but he gets in the front--for privacy. The other two agents always ride in another vehicle behind. TJ doesn’t look at Tim as the roll away from the curb. “Fuck you,” he says.

Tim doesn’t speak.

When TJ chances a look, he’s hunched over his knees. His fingers are clamped around the bridge of his nose, like his head is hurting him. He does look scared. Scared and sorry. But he doesn’t speak.

TJ crosses his arms, turning on the seat to kick at Tim’s knee. He’s not expecting it and his elbow is knocked off, causing him to reel forward then back. He looks at TJ in surprise.

“You can just drop me off anywhere,” he says quietly.

Fuck that. The room--ha, the _car_ spins wildly as TJ leans forward fast, climbing up on Tim again. He grabs at his stupid adorable flannel shirt and lets a brief thought of Sean remind him that he promised himself some things a while ago and he’s not going renege on them now.

“Let’s get this straight, motherfucker,” TJ spits. “Closet cases are only for one night stands.” He leans into Tim, expression deadly serious. “I don’t fuck around with that shit anymore. But I’m too hard to throw you out on the curb now. Under no circumstances will I ever be jacking off to your sorry face, you get me?”

“Yeah,” Tim breathes and TJ kisses him, hard, brutal.

“I’m so mad at you,” he says. 

Tim’s not moving to touch him, probably too scared to fuck this up even more. “I’m sorry,” he says. “I don’t--I don’t know what I was thinking.”

TJ knows. He knows that fear. He still feels it sometimes, even though _everyone_ knows about him and has for a very long time. He still feels it. The desire to hide. To disappear. He says fuck you to that though. He couldn’t make the choice, that first step, but he’s going to kick down the door every single time after, because fuck them for taking it away from him.

He wouldn’t take Tim’s. He wouldn’t even push him to make that choice. He never did for Sean. And fuck Tim for making him think so much about Sean. “I know,” he says and kisses Tim again. “Fuck you anyway. We better make it good.”

Tim smiles now. He’s still upset, surprised, confused. It’s all over his face. But his smile is a goddamn promise and, despite everything, TJ’s more than ready.

 

TJ’s hotel room is a little bit unreal. It’s on the top floor of one of the big high-rise chains Downtown near the arena. It’s a suite and it’s done up in dark purples and taupe and creams. It’s warm and cool and dark.

The agents stay outside.

“You want another drink?” TJ asks. His expression is still shuttered. 

“No, I’m good,” Tim says from the sofa. He feels unsteady now, from more than the booze, but he sure as hell doesn’t need any more.

“Come the fuck over here, then,” TJ says, walking towards the short flight of stairs, leading up to the bedroom. Tim goes.

They do everything fast. They pull off their own t-shirts and jeans. They come together swift and kiss hard again. Tim wants to speak, but he doesn’t know what to say. TJ groans, clearly into it, and Tim doesn’t know what to do with that either.

“Fuck you,” TJ murmurs and Tim huffs a laugh. That’s better.

TJ pushes him onto the bed, climbs on top again. Tim can tell he likes it that way. He leans down and kisses Tim long, slowly and languorously. He tastes like bourbon and, faintly, of cigarettes, though he hadn't smoked one since Tim arrived.

He pulls back and sits up. Looking down at Tim with his big bedroom eyes, made dark by desire and the low light. He’s got a shit-eating grin on his face and he trails light fingers across Tim’s chest looking so fucking pleased with himself. “Can’t stay too mad when you kiss me like that, Marshal,” he says.

“Holy shit, this is really happening,” Tim blurts suddenly, the realization coming at him slowly because of the booze and the murky haze of want that’s been hovering over him all night. “Jesus Christ.”

TJ throws his head back and laughs. “Yeah, that never gets old,” he says, the words dripping with sarcasm.

Tim shakes his head. “Come kiss me again,” he begs. “Pretend--”

He can’t finish the sentence. Pretend what? Tim’s not what he is? A coward, a liar, starstruck as all hell?

“Shut your mouth,” TJ growls, more annoyance than anger in his voice. He thrusts two fingers between Tim’s teeth to make his point. Tim sucks on them and TJ groans again, grinding his hips down into Tim’s.

He’s pretty good at following orders. He hopes that’s what his eyes are saying when he looks up into TJ’s wide open face.

“You’re something,” TJ murmurs. And they get down to it.

They go for hours. They go until they’re both sober and grinning goofily at each other, all slow touches and fascinated eyes. They go again after that and TJ comes, shuddering, inside Tim and collapses, boneless into his arms.

He smiles into Tim’s shoulder, mumbles something, grasping weakly at his arms, and falls asleep.

Tim dozes. Tim stokes TJ’s hair and smiles when he sighs again, snuggling closer. Tim thinks too much and gets up to take a shower. TJ sleeps soundly.

Tim collects his clothes. He frowns, turning towards the door only to spin around again and grab a pen and paper from the desk in the corner. He scribbles something he thinks he might regret--only if he gets no response--and steps out into the hallway.

He can’t bring himself to look at whichever agent is sitting outside the room. He takes a cab home. Feeling sort of shitty.

 

TJ wakes to an empty bed. He flops over and twists himself up in the sheets. Tim’s scent is all over them. Other stuff of Tim’s too. Ugh.

TJ scowls at himself, feeling gross and unhappy and not knowing what to do about it besides forcing himself up and into the shower.

Shit, he’s an unlucky bastard.

He closes his eyes and tries not to picture Tim’s face. His big blue eyes hazy with want, begging for it. For TJ. His stupid gentle hands, with the callouses. The way he sucked on TJ’s cock, like he wrapped his lips around TJ’s fingers.

“Fuck you,” he mumbles again. “Goddammit.”

There’s a knock on the door. “Sir,” it’s Carter’s rumble through the wall. “Your plane leaves in one hour.”

_Home_ , TJ thinks. Maybe that will clear his head.

He rolls out of the bed, not bothering to call back to Carter. They’ll come in in about fifteen minutes either way.

His eyes catch on the note on the nightstand. It’s obvious who left it.

TJ picks it up and can’t stop himself from smiling. It’s just a number, scrawled haphazardly in the dark and below it, Tim wrote _FRIENDS?_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't worry, kids. This doesn't stop at one night. It's only the beginning. :)
> 
> Thanks again everybody! Keep your love coming, it's a super great motivator.


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a lot of texting and everyone grows a little.

TJ is bored and he can't sleep.

Staying up all night fucking a sexy-ass sniper US Marshal will do that, he guesses. But it's not especially helpful when his current drinking partner needs to be in bed by 11:30 at the latest.

Now that Mama is in the White House, he and Nana live in the house in DC together. He probably could have wheedled his own place out of his parents after the campaign--and he sure as hell can afford it now with the speaking engagement money coming in. But he sort of likes having the place to come home to. And Nana is getting older. He likes to be around when he's home, in case she needs anything.

The only bad thing about the arrangement is that he's fucking bored almost all the time in DC.

Mama asked him after she won the election not to "go too hard with the club stuff" when he's home. Probably partly because she worries about him, but mostly because her approval ratings are lower than she wants and people care about what he does in DC. 

Dougie summed it up for him during after dinner drinks about a year ago, when TJ was itching to get back into it. 

He said, "It was cute when you were just out. You were doing what most young gay men do. It was fine when you were in your 20s and drifting. It's not cute anymore, TJ. And it's not fine. You're an addict and anyone who's been paying attention knows that. Despite how you think or feel about it, the public will think Mom is at best passively indulging you, or at worst actively endangering your life."

TJ hates it when he's so right about shit. 

He knows the clubs aren't a great place for him these days, so he holds back in DC. When he goes out elsewhere, he stays in the VIP section and people watches while he gets pleasantly soused.

There's the next campaign to think about too. TJ expects a family meeting about it any day now followed by a "sit-down" with Dougie and a bunch of other staffers about what they expect TJ to do, or not do, this time around.

TJ can take or leave the political life.

He likes parties. He likes talking to people, especially foreign dignitaries. But he hates the bullshit. He hates having to be polite to people who backhandedly insult him or who are bigots or who he just doesn't like.

TJ hates lying. And he doesn't have an actual college education, let alone any advanced degrees like Dougie's JD. So he supposes he's not really cut out for political life at all. But he plays along for Mama and for Dougie and sometimes for his father.

He really hates being bored though. It makes him want to do things he shouldn't.

He and Nana have a system down. One they rarely use. But when he's in town and he feels like going out and doing something incredibly stupid, he sends her a text with the code phrase “sleep tight.” The text is programmed into his phone already, so all he has to do is hit a shortcut button and press 'send' then she'll tell security he's not allowed to leave.

Generally, the shame of having to lie or hedge his way out of the house after that, having already sent the text, prevents him from even attempting to go anywhere. It's a good system and it's worked for them so far.

TJ feels antsy and angry about being bored. He wants to disappear again. He wants to not worry about all the shit. He wants to go have anonymous sex. He wants to snort a line off a body part.

He takes a breath and sends the text.

He lays down on his bed, looking up at the blank ceiling. He looks over at his phone again and thumbs through his contacts, settling on the one he'd entered that morning, then told himself to forget about.

But he's so fucking _bored_. And now he definitely can't leave.

He types out, _you up?_ and sends it to Tim.

 

Tim is not quite asleep when his phone buzzes. He jolts awake, thinking it’s a ring and he’s going to be called in to work for some crazy reason. He reaches over after he realizes the thing only buzzed once and takes a look at the screen.

An intense wave of relief washes over him when he sees it’s a DC number. There’s only one person it could be. And of course he’d wait until nearly 2:00 am to finally text.

 _I am now._ he sends.

A second later. _shit. sorry. can’t sleep._

Tim frowns. _You okay?_

There’s a longer pause before his answer comes back. _i just feel shitty. not your fault. not mine. just a shit sandwich. mostly meat. ;)_

Tim guffaws. He sends, _you taste all right_ before he can remind himself not to flirt with boys who’ve clearly stated he is off the table now.

But he gets an answer right away. _haha. yeah you too. :P_

Tim tries to think of something else to say, but he’s exhausted from a long stake out and subsequent arrest that evening, and he falls asleep before he comes up with anything. 

In the morning he wakes to a message that reads, _night, tim_.

 

They keep on texting.

It's really fun. Tim is funny, in a dry way that sometimes doesn't come across in text form, that he always follows up with a _...kidding._ TJ usually knows, but he likes to let Tim squirm a little. He likes to imagine his mouth twisting unhappily into a pout, his eyes getting bigger with worry.

He's waiting for just such a reply at the table during dinner when Mama says, "Boys, really. Are we going to have to make a rule about blackberrys at dinner?"

TJ looks up to see Dougie hunched over his phone across the table. Nana takes a drink from her martini, scoffing. Anne just looks pained.

"Go right ahead," TJ smirks. "Mine's an iphone."

"No cell phones at the table," Mama cries.

TJ huffs. "Dougie's _always_ on the phone, Mama. You never said anything before."

Dougie looks up finally. "Hey, I'm actually doing work--"

"Like that's a good excuse," Nana intones. "You work to much, sonny. You're gonna get an ulcer."

Dougie looks at TJ. His phone buzzes and he looks down and smiles. Tim's good old _jk_. Right on time. He types back _i know dummy i just like to mess with you_. When he glances back up, Dougie's still looking at him. "What?" he says, a little defensively.

"What are you doing on your phone so much lately, anyway?"

TJ gives him their _I know you're trying to shift attention on to me_ look. He refrains from sticking out his tongue. He'll get Dougie back later. "Talking to a friend," he says.

Nana snorts now. "Are you doing that thing? What do they call it...sexting?"

Mama looks horrified. "TJ, are you sexting? Really?"

He reels back, moving his hand over his phone automatically, like she's going to see it from the head of the table. "Jesus, no, Mama. It's just somebody I met on the road--"

"It's not that boy from Lexington is it?" Nana asks.

He throws her a quelling look and doesn't answer. "It was sort of a thing. But now it's not _anything_ like that. I..." he hesitates. "I made a friend, okay?"

He's almost as horrified as she was to see an immensely pleased smile spread across Mama’s face. She looks like she used to when he would bring home all A's...back in middle school, before he started to realize he was different and what that would mean.

"That's _wonderful_ , Tommy," she says. She used to tell him a lot she thought he should have more friends.

Oh God.

"Can we _please_ not talk about it anymore?"

She nods and TJ gets to keep his phone during family dinner.

 

Tim is reading, well re-reading, some Robert Jordan when he gets a somewhat delayed text from TJ after he called Tim a dummy.

_family knows about you. not details. just that we're FRIENDS. thought mama was gonna cry_

TJ won't let go of the all caps FRIENDS thing. It's just Tim's dumb handwriting. It's so shitty, he does most everything in caps so he doesn't look like an idiot or like he's had a wrist injury.

The second thing TJ sent him, after the first late night chat was, _should we be FRIENDS then? Should i HUG you and SQUEEZE you and call you GEORGE???_

Tim ignores him. Instead asking, _How did they find out?_

_phone at the dinner table_

_You're a terrible son._

_dougie started it_

 

The next day, Tim is in a meeting when TJ texts him, _check out my sweet new vest_ along with a picture.

Tim can't resist. He thumbs the photo open under the table and has to pretend to have a coughing fit to cover up his laughter. 

It's a selfie of TJ wearing only a rainbow feather vest.

Art makes an impatient noise and Tim puts his phone away quickly.

"You got something to share with the class Deputy?" Art asks him, clearly pissed.

"No, sir." Tim takes a breath. He's got to be more careful.

When the meeting is over, Rachel catches up with Tim at his desk while he's typing out an answer.

"What's going on with you and your phone?" she asks like she has half an idea.

Tim groans. "Nothing!"

"Cut it out, Tim," she says, glowering at him. "Who are you helping by pretending everything is 'nothing'?"

Tim opens his mouth to reply, but realizes he's got no argument. "You keep your mouth shut about it, okay?"

"Who do you think you're talking to?" She sounds pissed, but her eyes are warm and relieved. She really worries about Tim way too much.

"I… might be text friends with, uh, TJ Hammond," he tells her.

" _What?_

Tim glares at her and makes a silent shh-ing motion. "It's not a big deal!"

She looks at him for a long moment, then smiles really wide. "Of course it isn't," she says, like she thinks Tim is kidding himself, but wouldn't dare say so.

"It's not."

She goes back to her desk. Her smile is still there, unaccountably pleased. "I'll keep Raylan off your back. But don't take your damn phone into meetings anymore."

Tim rolls his eyes and sends his response. _That doesn’t look like your style._

TJ shoots back a moment later. _haha i only wear rainbow during pride week_

Tim laughs and types _Yeah, every other day you look like you’re running for president of The Cure fanclub._

_fuck you i shit rainbows. also fyi i dont care what the president says i’m going to pride this year and im going to make out with EVERYBODY_

Tim smiles down at his phone, then looks up to see Rachel glowering at him again. “Fine,” he says and shoots off a farewell message. _Have fun, sweetie. I have actual work to do today._

Later, when he gets off, he checks his messages to find TJ sent him, _i hate you_ followed by seven other pictures of him in various states of rainbow dress and undress making winky faces and flipping the bird into the camera.

TJ goes back on the road about a week later, and during the travel time they still chat, but in the evenings he goes quiet, except for a random drunk text about what the club he’s going to looks like, or a stealthy shot of a dude he might pick up.

 _they’re always saying shit about how they always wanted me_ , he says in a 3:00 am spurt of messages Tim gets one morning. _that can’t be true tho they don’tknowme_ followed by _they never want to knwo the truthhh_

Tim can’t respond to it. He doesn’t think TJ would want him to anyway. He was that guy too. None of them know how not to be. And TJ just takes it with a smile. He feels like a dick about it now. So he just says, _Your head hurt today, Princess?_ and TJ sends him another picture of a middle finger.

Since they text less, sometimes it’s hard for Tim to know where TJ is. So, naturally, he turns to the gossip blogs.

TJ clearly hates the paparazzi. He’s always scowling at them almost belligerently. He can’t flip them off like he does Tim because of the public opinion backlash Tim assumes it would cause. But he really always looks pissed off in the photos. 

He’s definitely no Brangelina or Kim and Kanye, but they do find him. It’s mostly in bigger cities and they’re always looking for him to be in trouble. Most of the headlines are shit like “Is TJ in another downward spiral?” or “TJ on the prowl for drugs and men!”

Tim is really only looking for the pictures and to figure out what he’s getting up to at night. TJ’s always very vague about it. Tim doesn’t think he’s really using. TJ confessed to him on another drunken occasion about the guilt he has when he’s speaking about sobriety. And TJ’s honest about the temptation he feels. He even gave Tim his family’s private numbers, in case Tim were to think anything was going to happen.

Tim remembers that text, can call it up in his mind like a well-loved painting or photograph.

_welcome to the support system brah_

So Tim can’t even believe how dumb he is to respond to TJ’s perfectly innocent text about going to The Hard Rock Cafe because it might be the only decent place in town with _I didn’t even know they had one of those in Biloxi_.

It’s a full five minutes later that TJ replies _omg you’re stalking me on the internet arent you???_

Shit shit shit.

Then another second later. _ah that’s hilarious. keep doing it. im going to send you messages!_

True to his word, hours later, someone--and who the hell knows who it was in goddamn Mississippi--snaps a photo of TJ in the Hard Rock Biloxi with two fingers pressed up against his lips. The same to fingers he shoved into Tim’s mouth.

 _I hate you so much._ Tim texts him.

_nonsense. im the greatest human in living memory_

Tim laughs a lot.

Weeks later, Raylan catches him scrolling through the pictures. 

“He keeps doing that thing with his fingers, lately,” Raylan says over Tim’s shoulder so he nearly startles right out of his chair. “Do you think it’s some kind of European middle finger? I know the Brits do that thing with the backwards peace sign.”

Tim chokes back a laugh. “I dunno,” he answers.

“Did you see that thing in US Weekly about how he might be dating that guy--what’s his face,” Raylan snaps his fingers until he sort of thinks of it, saying “Link or Locke, I dunno, Linkin Logs?”

“You mean Lincoln Lake?” Tim asks. “I think they’re just friends.” 

In fact, they are. _Friends_. 

TJ told him in a drunken text the week before, saying _son’t even worry timmy_. He had the dexterity the next day to text Tim the whole story.

They’d gone to boarding school together--as apparently all white male trust fund babies are either living off their parents notoriety or trying to be actors or musicians. The guy had gotten a few indie roles in the past few years and is now breaking into some lower grade action fare. He and TJ going to restaurants together in LA is the gossip blogs’ new wet dream.

“You wish,” Raylan scoffs off-handedly.

Tim turns right around and looks at him. Rachel stills at her desk. He doesn’t know what his face looks like as he says to Raylan, “Yeah, I do.” There’s a seriousness to the way he makes sure to say it, one that Raylan can’t miss.

He doesn’t. He looks down at Tim, who’s still sitting, and his smile grows wry. “You know, I didn’t. Know, I mean,” he says lightly. “But that makes a hell of a lot of sense.”

Tim doesn’t speak but his jaw is tense and his eyes are big, he’s sure.

“You won’t get anything but the usual shit from me, Tim,” Raylan says quietly. “Were you really worried you would?”

Tim shakes his head. It’s just ingrained in him now. Expect the worst, or at least, prepare for it. And for God’s sake _don’t let anyone know_.

“Does Art know?”

“Nope.”

“Well Rachel sure does,” Raylan says glancing at her barely trying to keep busy. “You think he’ll be mad?”

“Maybe if he takes any longer,” Rachel says to her papers.

Tim lets out a slow breath, but he keeps his mouth shut. 

He knows why she rankles at his silence. Yes, it’s unhealthy and dishonest, especially when Tim knows, beyond a reasonable certainty, that Art will be fine. But also, it’s because Tim’s difference--or his perceived difference--isn’t on his skin. It isn’t on his body either. People can’t see it on him. They don’t know unless he tells them.

Tim knows that, like TJ, Rachel never got a choice.

It makes him feel like an asshole when he thinks about it.

Raylan shakes his head, at her, not at Tim. “Take your time, kid,” he says, walking back to his desk. “Anyway, I think that Lake guy is an asshole. Definitely not good enough for our boy.” Raylan winks and Tim texts that shit verbatim to TJ later.

TJ says, _oooh i like this raylan. why are you always complaining about him?_

 _You’ll know if you ever meet him._ Tim doesn’t really think that’s likely, though.

That Friday he asks Art to go to happy hour with him. Everything goes fine.

Later that night, he texts TJ that he’s going to get a Grindr profile. He didn’t want one before, seeing as Lexington’s such a small city. He thought it might get back to someone at work.

_omg can i choose your profile pic?_

Tim grins. _I get veto power._

_just on the profile. send me all the body shots youve ever taken ;)_

Tim gets three messages in the first ten minutes. 

He doesn’t mention coming out to TJ. He just doesn’t want to make it weird.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks again for all your comments and support, friends! I'm having a blast writing this. I hope you're having the same reading it. :)
> 
> And don't worry, the boys will be back together soon. ;)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim and TJ meet again.

Campaigning is different when the candidate is a seated President. TJ learned that when he was fourteen. While the last campaign started out with a bang--and the tragic death of a President--this new one starts out, not really with a whimper, more like a quiet hurrah.

TJ's already on the road a lot, so campaign stops kind of trickle into his schedule. He has an assistant now. 

He got one when Dougie, hilariously, realized he didn't already have one, asked loudly during Easter Sunday Service how TJ ever got anything done at all, and spent the rest of the sermon posting an ad to some website just for personal assistants.

"Jesus, Dougie," TJ had whispered and _that_ was when Mama looked over at them, pissed as she ever let on in public.

His assistant's name is Johanna and TJ thinks she has a crush on Lopez. She's good at her job and makes sure TJ gets where he needs to be.

Right now, TJ's thinking that it's Lexington.

Mama asked him to stop at a thing with Dad in Louisville. Some country club deal that at least he can dress up for. He's sitting on his hotel bed, clothes laid out for the evening, and smiling down at a message Tim left him while he was on the plane. It's a picture of a cute ginger kid, screen-grabbed from Grindr. _He looks too young_ , Tim sent right after.

 _no way_ TJ typed to him.

_Not feeling it tonight anyway._

TJ frowns. 

He looks up as Johanna comes in. She's a little thing with a pixie cut and hipster glasses. She's got a blue stripe in her hair and Mama thinks TJ picked her to make her mad. He did no such thing. She was the best candidate he didn't want to screw.

"Can we get me to Lexington before the next thing?" he asks before she says anything about other shit he has to do that he forgot about.

Her brows rise. "What's in Lexington?"

"Personal stuff," he answers.

Her expression doesn't change. Early on, he gave her impunity to question him if she thinks he's being shady.

"I have a friend I want to see," he says, then adds, "not necessarily for sex! I mean, probably not at all for sex. We're just friends!"

She smirks at him. She's smart as a whip. She's got a BA in English Lit and an MA in Urban Planning but the economy tanked, then rolled over and died. The Republicans in Congress haven't resurrected it yet so, she and her smarts are stuck with TJ.

"Is this the guy you're always texting?"

He settles his shoulders and levels a look at her, he's trying for coy, but he's too desperate for that. "Maayybe," he hedges. "Will you pleeease help me?"

She rolls her eyes. "You're schedule's mostly clear anyway. You want me to get you a car and driver?"

TJ widens his eyes, excited. "Oh my god, can I _drive_ there? Can I drive the car?"

"Yes?" she answers, brows furrowing. "You have a license, right?"

"I almost never drive anywhere," he answers. "But yeah, I do. Oh man. Book it, book it right now."

She sits down with her gigantic phone, an Android of some kind, and scrolls through websites at a mile a minute. "What kind of car do you want?"

TJ grins. "I get to pick?"

 

Tim gets out of a meeting to five messages that all read _guess what_.

_OMG What?_

_in louisville for a dumb campaign thing. but tomorrows so light i can come see you! I'm gonna DRIVE timmy. jojo got me a car! TO DRIVE_

Tim grins. He knows TJ hates being carted around all the time. He always gets excited about public transit in bigger cities, because he doesn't have to deal as much with cabs or car services. Tim always wonders why he doesn't just rent more cars, but he guesses that might be a logistics nightmare.

TJ's so excited about driving the car, Tim doesn't really give a second thought to the fact that TJ's also coming to him, to Lexington, and what that might mean. He just types out _Well, if you're driving, just come pick me up at the office._

"Oh shit," he says aloud as soon as he's sent it.

And he can't take it back before TJ sends him, _yay!_

“What?” Rachel asks. She’s about to head out for a CI meeting.

Tim's scowling at his phone. "I just did something...I dunno." It's not exactly dumb. But he's sort of freaking out.

She sits back down and faces him directly, folding her hands on her desk to the side. "What did you do?" she asks calmly.

He tells her what TJ said, quickly and quietly, ignoring the growing smirk on her face. "So then, like an idiot, I said, 'just come pick me up at the office!'"

That's when she starts laughing. "Tim," she says as her laughter subsides. "It's not a big deal. If you don't want him in here, meet him outside."

Tim huffs. 

"What the hell are you two talking about?" Raylan says, just coming in, taking off his stupid hat.

Tim whirls on Rachel, but she speaks before he can hiss at her not to. "Tim's got a date with TJ Hammond."

Raylan's eyes get real big and his mouth falls open just a little. "Shit. You do not," he says. But Tim can see the gears working in his head. Raylan's smarter than he looks most of the time.

Tim's still looking hard at Rachel, who _still_ apparently thinks the whole situation is hilarious. "Damn straight, I don't," he says. "We're just. Going. To dinner."

Her smile becomes serene and she lightly pats him on the head as she rises from her chair. "Suit yourself, honey. I've got to get going."

Tim swivels around in his chair and catches Raylan laughing silently out of the corner of his eye. He glances over.

Raylan says, "You're full of surprises, son. When's your date? Tonight?"

Tim juts his jaw. "Tomorrow."

Raylan grins. "And he's coming here?"

Tim ignores him, but Raylan seems to take no answer as a 'yes.'

"I can't wait," he says cheerily. Tim grumbles something but then he's distracted by a text from TJ. 

_lets get burgers and beer or something. these hor d'oeuvres are super shitty_

Tim smiles. _Whatever you want_ , he thinks. He sends, _Okay._

And Raylan laughs at him again.

 

The next day, Tim is about ready to crawl out of his skin at 4:00 pm. He told TJ to come at 5:00, which he said was fine because he had to drop his assistant off at the hotel. Tim’s irrationally nervous and everyone’s noticing. He’s like dropping shit and mumbling at Art and Rachel looks like she wants to put him in the corner facing the wall until he calms down.

Well, he fucking would, but he can’t and he doesn’t know why.

He feels like he’s going to throw up, suddenly and violently, when he spots Carter walking into the office at 4:15, looking in and casing the place before he nods at Tim and taps his ear piece.

Shit shit shit.

Tim is up and out of his seat, heading straight for the doorway and the elevator, just as it opens and he’s face to face--again, finally--with TJ fucking Hammond.

TJ is wearing his uniform, as Tim likes to call it in their texts--a white t-shirt under a supple black leather jacket, jeans, and motorcycle boots, despite the fact that he can only barely drive a car. He steps out of the elevator, agents trailing him, and beams at Tim. 

It’s a wide, open mouthed smile, like he’s saying a silent “yay”, accompanied by wide, pleased eyes, and Tim, God help him, freezes and smiles right back. “You’re early,” he chokes.

“I drove fast,” he replies, brows wiggling excitedly. “Oh my God, hi!” He practically bounds over and pulls Tim into a big, totally obliviously happy, hug.

Tim’s grin hasn’t faded yet. “Hi,” he says. Licking his lips and looking around. They’re definitely causing a scene. People are staring at them. TJ’s looking around too though and he asks, pulling out of Tim’s arms too swiftly, “Hey, can I see it? Your office?”

Tim rubs at his forehead, avoiding eye contact with Gregg and Lopez. “I sent you all those pictures when you asked for them.”

“It’s not the same,” TJ says, walking in. He turns to the right and Tim hears him as the glass door shuts ask, “Hi, are you Rachel?”

Ugh. Shit.

He pushes in right after TJ and walks over to his desk. “I just have to finish this thing and get my coat,” he says loudly.

TJ and Rachel are talking in low tones and glancing at him every once in a while. TJ’s leaning over her desk and looking at the newspaper article she clipped last year of Tim on a rooftop during a SWAT exercise. TJ is _cooing_ over it. He feels his face get hot.

The door to the conference room opens and Tim grinds his teeth together as Raylan comes out. He’d been hoping they could just slip away before anybody in there--including Raylan, Art, and David Vasquez--could realize what was going on.

Raylan’s got his hands on his hips, cocking his skinny ass like he’s in a pin-up, as he lazily says, “Hey, Art wanted me to come see just what in the hell is going on out--oh, hey.” He finally notices TJ.

Tim sighs and says, “Raylan Givens. Thomas Hammond.” He makes introductory hand motions and looks back down at his stupid papers.

Tim sees Raylan reach his hand out to shake in his peripheral vision. “Good thing you don’t go by Tom,” Raylan says, “that would be too cute.”

Tim wants to slam his head on the keyboard, but he looks up instead.

TJ’s eyes are practically dancing in Raylan’s direction. “So, you’re the infamous Raylan.” 

Raylan tilts his head inquiringly. “Infamous, huh?”

“In almost every respect,” Tim deadpans.

TJ turns to Tim and says, eyes wide, like he’s totally serious. Tim can’t tell if he is or not. “How can you ever get anything done around here with this situation walking around?”

“It’s really really hard,” Tim throws right back at him.

“But not in the way you might think,” Rachel calls from over their shoulders.

“Yeah, I’m pretty awful,” Raylan says. He looks at Tim and gives him this strange, almost approving smile. It makes something twist in Tim’s stomach, along with all the unexplained nerves. “I’ll tell Art you’ve been recruited by the Secret Service.”

“Yeah, do that,” Tim grumbles and TJ laughs, maybe a little nervously. “Let’s go,” he says and zips out of there, leaving TJ to wave goodbyes and say overtures on how nice it was to meet everyone.

In the elevator, with Lopez and Gregg, TJ sobers. He fiddles with the zipper on his jacket. He looks earnestly at Tim. “You’re not mad I came early, are you? I was just so...” He trails off suddenly and looks like he’s not sure what to say, or like he’s not sure he should say what he wants to.

Tim shakes his head and smiles. He wants to take TJ’s hand, but that would be wildly inappropriate. He bumps TJ’s shoulder instead and smiles. “It’s fine. I think I actually wanted you to meet them. I need to get pushed out of my comfort zone more often.”

TJ snorts. “Don’t quote me to myself.”

Everything that was flipping and twisting in Tim’s stomach has somehow settled itself. “I’ve got to tell you some things,” he says.

 

Tim directs TJ to a restaurant that's on a side street halfway between the courthouse and TJ's hotel. It's a foodie place, with the menu written on a giant chalk board, a small local draft list, and a huge bourbon selection.

The waitress, who clearly recognizes him, asks if they'd like to sit outside on the small patio. Before TJ can say anything, Tim tells her, "sure." It's a gorgeous afternoon, slightly breezy, with just a hint of the chill of the evening coming on, so it's a perfectly reasonable call to make.

TJ hesitates, grabs at Tim's arm as he turns back outside, and says, "I can guarantee there won't be pictures. Gregg is on the lookout but--"

"It's fine," Tim says with a small, confident smile, and TJ's so surprised by it, he shuts right up and follows Tim and the waitress out.

When they're seated with waters in front of them and drink orders taken care of--Tim ordered a bourbon and, for lack of a better idea, so did TJ--they sort of just stare at each other for a solid minute.

TJ thinks Tim looks really good. Like even better than when they first met, or even later that night at the club. He's wearing a grey henley t-shit that he probably bought from Target--TJ can't believe he knows where Tim buys his clothes and is actually looking at his face in real life again.

Their virtual, or textual, or whatever relationship seems strangely disconnected from their brief flirtation and subsequent marathon fuck session. It's not that TJ feels like Tim is a different person or something, he feels more like Lexington is a whole other planet compared to the rest of the earth where he can't be near him.

He looks quickly away from Tim's face at that thought, concentrating on the menu in front of him, because he can't believe he's doing this to himself again. He realizes he shouldn't have come here. The texting was fine. It was fun and TJ really cares about Tim. Maybe too much to see him like this.

He was so cute in the office with his coworkers. TJ wondered as he watched them interacting, meeting him, like they weren't surprised at all. But he dismisses the thought that...he doesn't want to be that guy, the one that pushes just by asking, the one that makes it obvious what he really wants. TJ and Tim are just friends.

These fucking All-American blonds he seems to love so much. Why can't he just get the fuck over it?

He looks back up at Tim and smiles. Tim seems calm now, almost the complete opposite of how he was back at his office, clearly a ball of nerves and anxiety. It looks better on him than anything TJ's seen of him before. He thinks, after a moment, that he doesn't look afraid anymore.

"So, what's up with you?" TJ asks, making sure to sound casual. "Sorry I've been more out of touch. The campaign shit is worse than ever this time."

"It's fine," Tim says again, fiddling with his water glass before he takes a sip. "You must be happy it'll be your last."

TJ grins. "Probably. If Dougie ever runs, I don't think he'll have as much use for me. Maybe for some inaugural balls. Anne really loves it when she doesn't have to pay someone to help her find a dress."

Tim smiles. He looks right in TJ's eyes and TJ thinks, _he wants to say something_.

"You seem different," he says. Whatever it is, he wants Tim to know he noticed.

"You mean because I'm not freaking out that we're together and people can see us?" Tim's eyes are bright and almost happy.

TJ doesn't know what to do with that. Well, he was the one who said it first. "Yeah?"

The waitress comes over with their bourbons and TJ takes a healthy swig from his before she's a foot away from the table. Tim's watching him carefully. TJ doesn't know why.

"Remember when I got Grindr?"

Boy, did he. TJ makes himself smile, wide, like he was really excited about it. When, initially, all he'd felt was this crushing disappointment that was incredibly pathetic and unfounded. TJ had put a block on them, and for good reason. He has no right to feel the way he did, and still does, about Tim seeing other people.

"You never asked why I didn't have it before."

TJ shrugs. "Sorry?"

Truthfully, TJ had just thought that Tim was some kind of cell phone application neanderthal. He'd told TJ his iphone was new and he'd had a flip phone since he got back from Afghanistan before that.

Tim laughs softly. "It's not a big deal, I just--I didn't want it before, was afraid really, because I thought I might meet someone who'd recognize me. From work or whatever. Let's face it, I really don't have any actual social life to speak of."

TJ frowns. He takes another drink. Tim can't mean--

"I'm not so afraid of that anymore because I came out to my boss. And to Raylan and some other people in the office. Rachel always knew. But like...mostly everybody I care to have know do now."

TJ sets down his glass very deliberately, because he thinks he might drop it. Also, his fingers are shaking. He sees Tim notice and clearly not know what to make of that. "So," TJ says. "You're out."

"Yeah."

"Out out? Like really out?"

Tim blinks. "I think we're still talking about the same thing? There's only one kind of out I mean, TJ. I told most of the people I interact with on a day to day basis that I'm gay."

Shit.

Tim tilts his head and leans forward a little. "Are you okay?"

TJ is really really not. He downs his drink in two gulps and the alcohol burns all the way down. It's a good burn and TJ grins, suddenly and wickedly at Tim, whose eyes widen.

"I can't sit here and not touch you, Timmy," TJ says, eyes flicking across the street to where he knows there's the long zoom of a camera lens. "If you don't want to be in the tabloids just yet, I think we should go back to my hotel."

Tim sits back, clearly surprised, but he recovers easily. A slow, wide smile illuminates his face and it's all TJ can do to keep from jumping him in the middle of the patio.

"All right," he says.

TJ's about to vault out of his seat, but Tim takes his hand, startling the strength from his legs. He looks right into Tim's eyes and sees that promise that was there, in the dark of TJ's car six months ago. But Tim really really isn't afraid at all this time.

Tim slips quickly out of his seat and takes a step forward to lean in close to TJ. He presses his lips to the side of TJ's slackened mouth then whispers, "Let's go."

TJ throws a fifty on the table and lets Tim take his hand on the way out of the restaurant.

"Timmy, I can't drive," he says, pulling out the rental keys.

"I know," Tim says looking back at him and he looks _so serious_. Like he's on a mission. "I'll drive."

"Can I suck you off in the car?"

Tim laughs, full-throated, musical, tilting his head back. TJ thinks it sounds like an arpeggio. "Shit, that is so illegal," Tim tells him. "I think Carter would put me on the Most Wanted list."

TJ pouts. Speeding up to come abreast of Tim's quick stride, he presses close to Tim's side, wraps his arm around Tim's waist and whispers breathily in his ear, "Maybe I'll put your cock on it."

Tim jerks away playfully. "Oh my God," he laughs again. "You're the _worst_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'd love to know what you think of this chapter AND what should happen next. Keep your lovely comments coming, beauties. They give me life (and motivation)!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which every one is adorable and there's some family drama.

Of course, Johanna is in TJ’s room when he and Tim stumble through the door with their shirts already half off.

“Christ,” she yells, springing off his bed. She stares openly at them, eyes wide, and says, “I thought you said this wasn’t a sex thing.”

“It wasn’t,” they both say at once and Johanna blinks at them.

“Er,” TJ adds. “It--argh.” He’s having a hard time forming coherent thoughts other then _get her out_ and _get him in_.

Tim doesn’t say anything, but his fingers tighten around TJ’s arm at the elbow. 

Johanna crosses her arms over her chest and says, “You dummies. And I suppose Carter thought it would be _hilarious_ to have me find out this way, instead of warning me that you two were on your way up here, huh?”

“He’s not a secretary,” Tim says dryly. When TJ and Jojo both give him strange looks he says, “That’s what I heard. From him. A while back.”

“Jesus,” she groans and grabs her phone off the bed along with the remote, which she uses to turn off the TV. It had been on CNN. “Your Mom made a pit stop in Memphis. I think her people might call tonight and say you need to be there. She thinks you’re still in Louisville.”

“Ugh,” TJ groans, pressing his forehead to Tim’s collarbone. A warm hand curls up and around the back of his neck and TJ sighs. Jesus Christ, he missed shit like that. And it feels so nice coming from Tim. “Jo, get the fuck out,” he says as calmly as possible.

“I’m going,” she says, hands raised. “Nice to sort of meet you, Tim.”

“You too,” Tim says over TJ’s head.

TJ doesn’t move after he hears the door close, so they just stand there like that for a minute or so.

It’s kind of amazing.

Tim moves slowly, moving his lips from where he’d pressed them to the hair at the crown of TJ’s head, to his temple, and down to his ear. “So, is this a sex thing or what?”

TJ lifts his head and looks into Tim’s eyes. They’re blue and clear and full of something TJ doesn’t feel like he can put a name to. “We’ve only got a little while,” he says.

Tim smiles. He draws his hand from the back of TJ’s neck to his cheek. “That’s fine,” he says. “I’ll send you some texts tomorrow.”

TJ’s smile feels shaky and his brows furrow with the force of the emotion rising up in him. “Stay all night and send me dick shots of you in the jacuzzi.”

Tim starts backing up towards the bed. He’s so smooth about it TJ barely notices. He’s also really busy watching Tim’s mouth as he says, “Dick shots, huh? Isn’t that moving a little fast?”

“I don’t know, is it?” TJ asks. He feels like they just jumped into lightspeed, it all fell into place so fast. He doesn’t want to question it. “Do we need to talk--” He breaks off because Tim kisses him. “--about it, or--”

Tim grins. His hands tug TJ’s shirt up. Once that’s on the floor, they’re pulling at TJ’s belt. “Forget I said anything. Talking just wastes time. I’m down, TJ. Are you?”

“Fuck yes,” TJ says and pushes him onto the bed.

TJ wants to go fast. He’s used to doing it that way. But Tim’s hands steady him, slowing him down. “Just because there’s not a lot of time, doesn’t mean it’s a race,” he says between kisses.

TJ’s not entirely sure that’s true, but Tim looks so sincere he just nods and lets him take the lead. He doesn’t think about it at all. Their clothes are entirely off now, strewn about the room. Tim cradles TJ’s face in his hands and kisses him thoroughly, for a long time. So thoroughly, TJ’s not sure he can take it much longer.

“Touch my cock,” he whines.

Tim huffs a soft breath into TJ’s neck. He’s working his way down. “Wait.” He looks up into TJ’s eyes and his expression takes away TJ’s breath. People don’t look at TJ like that. “I didn’t think I could have this,” he says. “I’m gonna make it count.”

TJ raises shaking hands to run his fingers through Tim’s hair. Shit, they’ve waded out past the breakers. There’s no going back now. “I wanted--Tim. If you--” He frowns. He’s not usually this inarticulate.

“You were the reason,” Tim says all in a rush. “You made me brave.”

“Shut up,” TJ cries, leaning forward fast and crushing their mouths together. Tim can’t say shit like that. 

When they break apart, Tim doesn’t speak again, but he pushes down on TJ’s shoulders, with enough force to lay him back on the mattress. TJ leans back and lets Tim do what he wants. And he does, slowly and sweetly.

Tim holds him as they ride it out together.

 

He kisses Tim on the forehead and then the side of his mouth in the early hours of the morning. Johanna sent him a message to wake him. He’s got to be in Memphis to meet Mama.

Tim stirs, which TJ didn’t mean to make him do. He looks up and smiles. “Dick shots?” he mumbles.

TJ grins. “Please, baby.”

“Sounds so good,” he murmurs as he rolls over and falls asleep again.

TJ is pretty sure he’s not talking about the pictures.

 

Tim wakes up to a note from Johanna, not TJ. 

It reads, _Everything is cool with the room. Just be out by noon. I heard you wanted to use the jacuzzi? I picked up some shampoo and shit from the concierge desk. --J PS I’m sure we’ll be back soon. Someone’s got big heart eyes for you._

Tim is probably making a doofy face at the note, but he doesn't really care that much. He feels...really really great.

He pulls out his phone and sees that TJ sent him a message from the road. It's a picture of him pumping gas. He must have made Johanna take it. He's giving a thumbs up sign and he's grinning from ear to ear.

_You're a regular mechanic now._ Tim sends him.

He gets a response back almost immediately. _haha maybe someday ill use mah skillz to make an honest living_. Followed by, _good to see the family but christ union speeches are the worst. so pandery_

Tim set his phone down on the edge of the tub and leans over to turn it on. He sets out a towel and pours some of the pink bubble bath Johanna got him into the rising water.

TJ, he thinks, doesn't give himself enough credit about the political knowledge he's picked up being a Hammond. Tim's sure he'd have at least a few ideas on how to make that speech more interesting. Tim's also sure TJ wouldn't enter politics as a career in a million years, but he never likes to hear him down on himself about what he is or isn't good at, or can or can't do with himself.

_You've got a lot of skillz._ Tim replies as he sinks into the water. He spends a few minutes figuring out the buttons for the jets. Then sends, _Make sure no one can see your phone._

_oh i'm really good at THAT_ TJ tells him just as Tim hits the send button on the photo. It's not very artful, but he made sure to caption the pic with _go easy on me. it's my first time._

TJ sends him back a _< 3_ .

Tim makes himself late for work jacking off in the jacuzzi.

 

TJ's stretched out on the couch in Mama's suite in Memphis when Dougie comes in and throws a paper at him.

"So you have a boyfriend now?" he asks in his _I'm trying not to be pissed_ voice.

TJ sits up quickly and grabs the paper. Sure enough there's a picture of Tim leaning over the table and kissing TJ while holding his hand. He grins. "I guess I do," he says. His face falls when he looks up to see Dougie's constricted expression. "What?"

"You didn't think to tell the ca--the family?"

TJ feels something shut up inside him, close right down. He scowls. "It _just_ happened, Dougie. We didn't even say--I don't know how he feels about everything, I just--"

"What's his name?" Dougie's arms are fortified across his chest. TJ has no idea why this is such a big deal. "What does he do?"

"I don't have to answer these goddamn _vetting_ questions," TJ spits. "It's not your business and it's certainly not the fucking campaign's."

Dougie just raises his eyebrows at TJ.

TJ huffs and throws the paper at him, just as Mama comes in to the common room from the bedroom where she'd been changing for dinner.

"What's going on?" she asks sternly. "Why aren't you boys dressed yet?"

Dougie picks up the paper at his feet and hands it to their mother. TJ continues to scowl. He _hates_ this.

She's clearly composing herself, getting ready for a fight, when she speaks. "When was this taken?"

Dougie opens his mouth, but she holds up a hand. 

"Yesterday," TJ answers. 

"What were you doing in Lexington?"

"Seeing _him_."

"And how long has this been going on?"

"It..." TJ feels like he can barely remember. "It just happened--"

"You _just_ met him?" Dougie growls and for the first time since the conversation began, TJ wonders if it's not just the campaign they're worried about.

" _No_ ," he says. He hears his voice break. He just wanted them to be happy for him. He was going to tell everyone before the left for the dinner. "Do you think I'm some kind of idiot? We met when I was in Lexington before and--"

Mama's face suddenly softens and she crosses the room to sit down next to him. "Is this who you've been texting so much, Tommy?" She looks down at the picture and smiles. "He's cute."

"Oh my God, Mama, he's _so_ cute," he says and hates how unsure he sounds. "It was just a surprise," he tells her, trying to explain. "I thought it wasn't going to happen and then it did and I was _so excited_ \--"

She levels a look at Dougie, who has the grace to look shamefaced.

She wraps her arm around TJ's shoulder and he leans into her warmth. "Now, what's his name? This reporter is terrible. They have no idea." Of course she's already skimmed through the article.

"Tim," TJ says. "He's a US Marshal. He was a replacement on my detail last fall."

She sighs. "I knew it was just a matter of time for you and the security guys."

TJ grins, but he doesn't say he thinks Tim was different.

After a minute, Mama adds, "Well, we'll just have to meet your new boyfriend, Deputy Tim, right? Let's get him to DC for the weekend soon, okay?"

TJ takes a breath and nods. 

Five minutes later, as he's tying his tie, it dawns on him, he's going to have to tell Tim about that _entire_ conversation.

Shit, he's going to scare the boy off before they even get a week into this maybe almost relationship thing they're doing.

In the car on the way to dinner, which is stupid early so Tim will unfortunately still be at work, he writes out a text that says, _so my family knows about you and thinks we are boyfriends for really real. mama wants to meet you and stuff..._

A few minutes later, he sends, _???_ , because even though he knows Tim is busy and can't answer, he's freaking out because he might be mad. Tim said he didn't want to talk yesterday, but that doesn't mean he never wants to hash this shit out. TJ's assuming a lot and it's making him nervous.

The dinner is at a the art museum in Memphis and TJ has to make nice with donors. He's barely paying attention though and Dougie has to send a staffer over to say, "Your brother wants you to put your phone away."

"Tell him to fuck off," he says low in the poor girl's ear. "I'm trying to wrangle my boyfriend for him."

He only says it that way because that's how Dougie will think about it. Really, he just wants to make sure they _are_ boyfriends. TJ's not sure he could take the disappointment if they weren't.

He wishes Nana was here to take his mind off it. He's sipping--really--on his martini when Tim replies to his text. He feels it in his pocket. There's a lull in conversation at the tables. Someone's about to give a speech. TJ doesn't give a flying fuck. 

He opens the message and promptly snorts _loudly_. Tim's text reads _you mean BOYFRIENDS?_

All the people next to him and across from him and Mama, who's standing now, look right at him with vary degrees of surprise, consternation, and aghast. TJ can't stop grinning. He rises from his chair, says a couple "excuse me"'s and "i'm so sorry"'s and books it towards the bathrooms.

He's dialing Tim as he speed walks.

"Hey, aren't you--"

"Oh my God. You're the worst," TJ whispers into the phone, eyes darting around, searching for eavesdroppers or Dougie.

"Hey now. I thought that was you?" Tim laughs over the line. TJ really loves it when he laughs, and not in the dry, sort of mean way TJ remembers from outside the school. 

"Not when you make me bust at the art museum dinner table!" TJ's sure Tim can hear the grin in his voice. "That's probably the absolute worst thing a _boyfriend_ can do."

"Oh yeah?"

TJ makes a face. "Not really." He sort of hates he can't even keep up a sarcastic joke for long, he's so worried Tim will take something the wrong way.

"Relax, sweetheart," Tim says and TJ wants to strip off his pants and come all over Tim's mouth calling him that.

"Fuck, Tim," he says instead. Then he adds after a pause, "She wants to meet you."

"Yeah, you said that." Tim does sound worried now. "I meant what I said, TJ. I'm down, but I didn't think I'd be… summoned this quickly."

"I can put her off, I--"

"No, I want to see you anyway."

TJ bangs his head against the marble wall at his back. Fuck.

"I want to see you too." TJ thinks it's going to be so hard. He thinks, for a terrible second, about telling Tim to forget it.

"We can do it," Tim says, as if he can red TJ's mind. "I meant what I said about you making me brave too. I'm not letting this go easy, sweetheart. And I don't think you want to either."

"No. No, of course not." He smiles helplessly. "Who are you? Is this really Tim Gutterson on the line?"

TJ hears footsteps from down the hall. Someone's come to find him. 

Tim huffs and it buzzes over the somewhat shaky cell reception. "I know I changed my tune a little--"

"More like you did a complete 180. Not that I'm complaining."

Dougie's approaching him slowly, looking curious rather than upset. TJ doesn't change the volume of the conversation. He's never wanted to hide anything from his brother. He just hates that it's always politics first. Dougie used to hate it too.

"It's just all this talking with you. Getting to know you. I realized what you had was what I wanted--"

"A drug addiction and all my paparazzi friends?"

"Shut up. And that what I wanted was you too. You're amazing TJ--"

"Tim," he protests, feeling his face redden. "Dougie's here. He can hear you!" The volume of his receiver is always set really loud in case he's in a club or crowd somewhere. Dougie's face is all crinkled up in his baby-faced giant grin.

"So what? I'll come, I just need to get the time off work and like...book a flight or--"

Dougie's shaking his head, still grinning. "Tell him we'll charter a goddamn plane," he says quietly. "I want to meet him, too."

TJ gives him an impatient look. "Dougie wants to charter you a jet, but I think maybe we'll just spring for Business Class. Don't even worry about it, baby."

"What? You can't--"

"Mama won't hear of you paying, I'll bet anything on that," TJ assures him. "Just tell Art the Secret Service really did recruit you."

"Oh, like _that's_ going to go over well."

Dougie's jerking his thumb back at the party. "Come on. Call him later."

"He might be sleeping!"

Tim laughs. "I'd stay up for you, if you drunk dial me."

"Stop it." TJ's blushing again. "And I'll remember that when some 2:00 am bullshit happens and you're all mad at me like Miami."

"I had _just_ got home--"

" _TJ_ ," Dougie hisses. "She's almost done. We have to shake hands."

"Fine. Bye, baby."

"Bye," Tim says, hesitates, but doesn't add anything else. TJ grins anyway.

He's so going to call him later.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Daily chapter updates is NOT A REAL THING. This didn't happen. Don't expect it in the future. ;)
> 
> Sorry for any typos. I wanted to get this up before I went out for the evening.
> 
> Keep them comments a comin'. :D


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim visits TJ and makes kind of a dumb decision.

Tim is caught in a firefight. 

Well, it’s a shootout inside a self storage complex but it feels like the streets of Kandahar for some reason. By the time some goddamn heroics from Raylan get them out of the situation and the perpetrators are arrested, it’s time for Tim to go to the airport.

He’s really glad he packed his bag ahead of time.

Before he heads out, Rachel takes him aside. She’s got her worried face on again. “Are you gonna be all right?” she asks. “You look a little…”

“Pale? Sweaty?” He feels awful. His hands aren’t shaking yet though.

“Both.”

He shakes his head. “I’ll get a drink before I get on the plane.”

Rachel doesn’t seem convinced. “Maybe you could change the flight?”

Tim imagines the crestfallen, no, tragically wrecked expression on TJ’s face and turns away. “I’ll be fine,” he says, waving his hand at her. “Don’t worry.”

At the airport, he does get a drink, a Sam Adams at one of the shitty sort-of-restaurants they have. But his flight is about to leave and he has to down it fast. When he gets to his seat, he’s feeling buzzed but it’s not helping him any. 

He was thinking about Kandahar down the tubular ramp to the plane, though truly, nothing in that city ever looked so clean. As he sits down, he’s thinking about buckling into his flight from the shit, right after Dekkard bit it and they told Tim he was going to go home.

He’s sweating and it’s awful. There’s a tight thing in his chest that’s lodged there. His fingers shake as he draws them across his forehead.

There’s a middle-aged woman sitting next to him, shooting him glances with sympathy.

“You get nervous on flights, honey?” she asks.

Tim squeezes his eyes shut and half-shakes his head. “Something like that.”

She’s wearing a business suit and has already kicked off her heels. Her manicured nails are red and she’s got a good-sized rock on her left hand. She holds a bottle of pills out to him. “These help me on the long flights,” she says. “Got a touch of the claustrophobia. I just zonk out, wake up when the plane lands.”

Tim looks at her. “What is it?”

She smiles. She must be a saleswoman, because it’s easy, but fake as hell. “Just a little stronger than a Xanax.”

Tim sighs. He feels like he’s seeing the dead in the flight attendants’ eyes and fucking IEDs in people suitcases. “Ugh,” he groans. Even his flashbacks aren’t making sense now. He holds his hand out. He thinks he might not make it through the flight otherwise. 

Business Class gets drinks while they wait for everyone in the back rows to file in. Tim keeps his tiny white pill palmed until he’s almost done with his plastic tumbler of water. He takes it and passes out during the safety speech.

 

TJ is starting to get nervous.

Tim’s flight arrived about twenty minutes ago and he’s not at baggage claim. TJ’s getting a lot of weird looks from people. Carter’s standing like a statue at his back and Johanna has the night off. TJ had been pretty sure he could pick his boyfriend up from the airport without incident.

Now, he’s sort of wondering. He gets out his phone to send a text.

He looks back at Carter, who spares him a glance, before his eyes dart to something over TJ’s shoulder. “Sir,” he says and TJ spins around.

Sure enough, there is Tim, looking slightly lost as he stares at the signs for the carousel numbers, then down at his ticket, then back at the sign.

TJ’s already got Tim’s bag--which he made sure to tell him to check, since the family was paying anyway. And they’re really only about fifty feet away. It shouldn’t be that hard.

TJ pulls at the handle of Tim’s bag and sets off walking to over to him in a huff. 

Tim looks sort of strange. He’s all rumpled, and it’s not just his clothes. It looks like he spent the flight messing around with his hair, pulling it in all different directions. His eyes are very wide, unless he’s carefully focusing on the signs. Then, they’re intent, squinting harshly. He looks almost unsteady. The closer TJ gets, the more he realizes, he looks _actually_ unsteady.

“Baby,” he says from about ten feet away, then “ _Tim_ ,” when he doesn’t hear.

Tim turns and he almost stumbles, but TJ’s quite near him now and reaches out to grab at his elbow. “Hey,” Tim says and his smile spreads so slowly across his face. “I couldn’t…” he adds, but he trails off without finishing.

TJ frowns deeply. “Are you drunk?” Tim had never said anything about being afraid to fly. He would have thought he’d bring that up if it were the case.

Tim’s eyes go wide and his mouth falls open, but his speech is on a crazy long delay. “No, no,” he says. “I--” he shakes his head and leans forward into TJ, who has to pull an arm around his waist to support him. “Shit, m’sorry.”

“Timmy, I just…” TJ doesn’t know what to say either. He’s so surprised and frankly, really worried. If Tim’s not drunk, is he high? Did someone slip him something? Why the fuck would they do that?

“God, this’s sofucked up,” Tim mumbles, reaching for the handle to his bag. He’s blinking slowly and TJ thinks in a second he’s going to pitch to the floor.

“It’s fine, it’s fine,” TJ insists, drawing his hands up to Tim’s face. “ _Hey_.” Tim looks at him. TJ makes sure to put on a nice smile. “Everything is fine, baby. Carter got the driver to pull the car around. It’s right outside waiting for us, okay?”

Tim’s smile is weak and slow, but he says , “Okay,” and together they get him and his shit into the dark SUV. TJ thanks the stars above there’s no cameras. It was a late flight, nearly 11:00 by the time they get out of there and onto the highway back to the townhouse.

TJ lets Tim plant his face in TJ’s lap and he runs his fingers through Tim’s hair until he sighs deeply and rolls over to look blearily up at TJ’s face.

“’M really sorry,” he mumbles.

“What happened?” TJ asks.

Tim groans and tries to roll back into TJ’s legs, but he holds him still and says, “Hey. You think _I’m_ gonna judge you about this? No, I’m fucking not. I just want to know what’s going on, baby, please.”

Tim shakes his head, like if he does that none of it will have happened. “Shit at work. Got my head all fucked. Lady nexto me. Had some kind of pill--”

TJ jerks his head back at that, then places his palm across Tim’s cheek. “ _Some kind of pill?_ ”

Tim nods and his eyes drift down and away from TJ’s face. He’s clearly not paying attention to TJ’s distress. “Like Xanax shesaid. Thought I would’ve to get of the plane. Gonna have a panic attack or fuckin’--took the pill. Fell asleep…” His eyes drift shut and he doesn’t say anything else.

TJ’s heart is racing. “Tim,” he says. He shakes him, but tim barely stirs. “Tim?”

Carter leans over from the front seat with his crazy long arms and presses two fingers to Tim’s neck. He waits about thirty seconds then lets go, nodding. He looks at TJ and says, “It’s maybe a little slow, but he’s fine.”

TJ’s doesn’t understand. “Would something like that really hit him so hard?”

Carter shrugs as he turns all the way back towards the front. “Depends on what he ate, maybe drank, earlier today too. Depends on how much stronger ‘a little stronger than Xanax is.’”

TJ shakes his head and sighs. Of course. He knows that. He’s just usually the one feeling the shit, not watching it happen. He draws his fingers back through Tim’s mussed up hair. Tim smiles and curls his fingers into the seam of TJ’s jeans. His breathing is deep and calm. 

They almost have to carry Tim inside because they can’t shake him awake enough, but he realizes what they’re trying to do when they get him out of the SUV and he insists on walking. “I can do it,” he says, enunciating carefully.

TJ smiles and says, “I know you can.”

Carter is watching their backs, holding his hand out slightly to make sure Tim doesn’t pitch backward.

They come in through the garage and into the kitchen. Mama has the dogs at the White House, so TJ’s pretty sure they can sneak in without waking Nana. Except for the fact that she’s still up and sitting at the island with a piece of chocolate cake and a glass of red wine in front of her.

She leans over and looks at them. Tim’s head is sort of lolling onto TJ’s shoulder.

“What the hell’s the matter with him?” she calls. 

Tim groans. “Is it the President?” His eyes must be closed. He takes a breath and puts some more effort into standing.

“No, thank God. It’s just Nana.”

"I heard that," she says as they enter the room. 

Carter hangs back. All the agents are pretty hands off inside the house, and the residence at the White House, but TJ rarely goes there. He and Dougie had the run of the place when they were young though, even the offices sometimes.

TJ throws a look of gratitude over his shoulder as Carter recedes into the metaphorical shadows. Carter gives him a curt nod. Ever since he made that call to Tim for TJ, he's known the agent was rooting for them.

TJ helps Tim collapse into the high bar stool across from his grandmother. She squints consideringly at him, and he squints at her, probably because the light's hurting his eyes. TJ is sure he's making some kind of face. It's sort of the worst situation possible for this meeting, but Tim is being so cute. He rubs his hand, palm open, across Tim’s back soothingly.

Nana transfers her attention back to TJ, and Tim slides his elbows on the table, letting his face drop into his hands. "Shit. Shit. Shit."

"Well, he's definitely an Army boy. I've had my share of those," she says. "And you didn't answer my question."

"Am I hallucinating right now? Is this some terrible dream?" Tim mumbles into his hands.

TJ runs his hands across Tim's tense shoulders. "We're not entirely sure of all the details," he says.

"You're confusing me with your mother," she retorts. "Give me the dime novel summary."

"Naive young Marshal is tricked by...nefarious airline passenger into taking a...a pill of dubious origin...and potency," Tim says very slowly, clearly thinking about it. He lets his hands drop and leans slightly forward to give her a big, friendly smile. "Hi," he adds. "I'm Tim."

Nana beams. "He's a poet," she tells TJ.

"His texts are always grammatically correct," TJ admits, smiling softly. He presses his lips to Tim's messed up hair, since they're at about the same height. Then he proceeds to start playing with it. He just really likes Tim's hair this way.

"I'm Margaret Barrish," Nana says and holds out her hand. 

Tim takes it and continues to smile, though a little tiredly. "My grandma was cool like you," he says. "And funny."

The bottom drops out of TJ's stomach. They've _never_ talked about Tim's family. 

Nana's brows rise delicately. "Oh, was she?" she asks. She glances over at TJ. His hands have stilled in Tim's hair. "Go on and get some more of that cake out of the fridge, sweetie. Didn't you feed this boy anything?"

TJ takes a breath. Of course he didn't think to do that. God, he's fucking this up. He’ll get a glass of water too, to make up for it.

Nana pushes her plate at Tim and tells him to have some. He frowns now, concentrating hard to pick up the fork. 

"You don't like flying too much, huh?" she asks him, tilting her head.

Tim shrugs. "I don't like having flashbacks, really," he says. TJ drops the cake knife. "But, I guess, who does?"

"Nobody," Nana says and her eyes are a lot more sad as she looks at him. "Nobody does."

Tim smiles down at the cake but his face falls when he looks up at them both and sees their sobered expressions. TJ looks hastily inside the fridge.

"I'm, ah, I'm really tired," Tim says, like he needs to make an apology, but maybe like he's not entirely sure what for.

"That's okay, honey," Nana tells him, patting his hand. "You eat that cake though, or you're gonna be extra sad in the morning."

Tim nods and takes a big bite. TJ puts another plate on the counter and he and Nana split the second slice.

They talk about their plans for the weekend until Tim drops the fork and leans his forehead precariously on his fingers. Nana's lips tighten at TJ and he goes to him. "Let's get to bed, huh? It's pretty late, baby," he says.

Tim shakes his head. "Nn, I'm good. I wanna stay and hang out--"

Nana smiles softly. "Well, these old bones are tired too," she tells them, sliding her tiny frame off the chair. "I'm off, boys. Goodnight."

Tim comes after that and they slowly make their way up the stairs to TJ's room.

On their way, TJ can't help but ask, "If you were having a problem, baby, why didn't you just call? We could have changed the flight. Or the weekend. It would have been easy."

Tim sighs, turning his face into TJ's neck. "That's what Rachel said."

"She's pretty smart."

"I didn't want you to be sad," Tim says. "Didn't want to..." He trails off.

They're inside the room now and almost to the bed. TJ doesn't bother to turn on the lights. "Didn't want to what?"

TJ and Tim tumble onto the bed together and Tim rolls a little to look at him with sleepy eyes. "It's not a real thing if you pretend it's not...real. Not a big deal."

TJ smiles sadly and touches his face. "I know all about that, baby."

"I know," Tim says as his eyes close. He opens them again after a moment and says, "Fuck. I really wanted you to fuck me tonight."

TJ grins and kisses him. Tim's lips are warm, but barely responsive. 

"What an idiot," Tim mumbles. TJ reaches up for his hair again and he sighs. "Feels nice."

"I'm glad, Timmy." TJ doesn't think he'll bother with their clothes. He's slept in more than his fair share of skinny jeans and he can't imagine manhandling Tim out of his at this point. So he kisses Tim's forehead this time and listens to his breathing even out before he falls asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have no idea if what I've written here is an accurate portrayal of a bad reaction to booze and sleeping pills/anxiety meds. I'm not a doctor and I'm not doing a ton of research for this. Hence, my not actually mentioning the name or brand of the medication. So we've got some fic-trope-mysterious!intoxication. It's my favorite. That's why.
> 
> Thanks for all your wonderful comments! Keep them coming, because I'm clearly easy for them. ;)


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which dinner with the Hammonds goes about how you might expect.

Tim is worried that his jacket isn't nice enough for the White House.

TJ is pouting for some reason and Margaret has broken into the champagne. "It's a celebration!" she'd said when they both looked at her inquiringly. "Timmy's here! And he's not that hungover."

It's true. Tim is not as hungover as he has any right to be. He felt sort of awful earlier in the day, but a big breakfast of eggs and bacon, prepared lovingly, albeit a little crisply by TJ, and a nice day out seeing some sights and eating ice cream on the Mall, had pretty much cured him.

"I can't believe she moved it over there," TJ grumbles. "It was just going to be family. _Here_."

"It still is going to be family," Margaret replies, unconcerned.

TJ clenches his jaw. "I'm gonna go outside and smoke," he says.

They watch him retreat to the patio. His shoulders are tense and his expression dark. Tim wants to know what's up, but he hesitates to ask. He doesn't want to make anything worse right before they leave for dinner.

About an hour ago, the President's secretary had called Margaret to say that there was a situation developing and that she'd like to stay close to the Oval--these were literally the words she repeated to them--for the evening. Everyone was to come to the White House Residence for dinner, prepared by the White House Chef himself, instead of the caterer TJ had hired--which was a thing apparently the family did on the regular.

Tim looks over at Margaret.

Her expression is almost as tense as TJ's now. It hadn't been before he went outside. "His and his mother's definition of 'casual family dinner' is different," she says, answering a question Tim hadn't asked. "And he's had a thing against the Residence ever since she got herself back in there. It's funny, he was the first one to say she should run again, but he never wants anything to do with it when he's in town."

Tim doesn't say anything and after a minute of silence she asks him, "You want a glass of this, honey? I hate drinking by myself."

Tim shakes his head. "It'll just bring my headache back, I think. Thanks though. Is it a good year?"

"Nah," she says, winking. "Even the Hammonds save the good shit for a real party."

Tim can see TJ stamping out his butt on the beautiful brick tiles, so he quickly turns to Margaret and blurts, "Is my jacket okay for the White House?"

She gives him that brilliant smile he vaguely remembers from the previous night and leans over the counter to pat him on the cheek. "You're a gem," she says. "You'll do fine."

"Fucking right, he will," TJ says as he comes in. He walks over to Tim and kisses him, leaning in close. He smells like smoke, but Tim doesn't turn away.

He does sort of freeze. He's really really not used to PDA.

But TJ pulls back and smiles at him. He's not expecting anything Tim can't give. It's kind of awesome.

"Relax," Tim tells him, because sometimes that works on TJ. 

But it was a misstep tonight. His face darkens again and his smile falls until he forcibly rescues it. "It's fine," he says. "There's a situation. There's always a situation."

That strikes Tim as somewhat selfish, but he looks at Margaret, who seems to be pretending she's no longer in the room, or that she heard TJ say that. Tim decides to wait to talk about it further. It's not his family and he's sure he doesn't have anything close to a fair amount of perspective on the shit his mother gets up to.

TJ gives him another kiss, as Margaret puts her half gone bottle of champagne in the fridge.

"I think I hear the car," she tells them.

TJ runs upstairs to get his own jacket, so Tim is without him when Bud Hammond walks through the door.

The man himself is larger than life. He takes up the room just when he breathes, let alone when he's walking towards you. Tim has read this about Former President Bud Hammond, but he never thought he'd experience it first-hand.

"You must be Tim," Bud booms across the room to him.

Tim has a strong urge to stand at attention and salute, but he knows TJ would _hate_ that, and he's not entirely sure how Bud would react. He's not here in anything like an official capacity, so he tries to smile, knows he's really grimacing, and replies, "Yes, sir. Good to meet you, sir."

"Meet? I haven't even introduced myself yet, son." 

Tim always thought he looked sort of like a big bull frog on TV, especially in news conferences and speeches, when he would get all worked up. But, surprisingly, in person, he seems a lot more handsome. Everyone always said it was good the Hammond boys got their mother's good looks, but Tim can see a lot of TJ's charm comes from Bud himself.

"Like, you need an introduction, Bud," Margaret says, purse in hand. "Did you come with the car so you could brag to Elaine that you met the boy first?"

"Maybe yes, maybe no," Bud says with that smile that never admits anything. Tim feels like he needs to sit down.

"Well, I got you all beat," Margaret points out as TJ comes pounding back down the stairs. "I met young Timmy last night when--"

"Come on, Nana," TJ calls, pulling his slim black jacket on. He's changed his shirt for some reason as well and Tim smiles. They're both stupidly nervous. "Really?"

"I wasn't going to say anything," she says defensively. "I would never!"

"Anything about what?" Bud asks.

"Never you mind. These two have got to have some secrets, huh? They won't have many after the press sinks their teeth in them sooner or later," Margaret says as Bud leads them out the door, flanked by two serious looking agents.

"Gee, thanks, Nana Buzzkill," TJ grumbles. Tim takes his hand and holds on the entire limo--Jesus Christ--ride to the White House.

 

Elaine Barrish, the President of the United States, is waiting for them inside the Residence, which Tim did not know was just the middle part of the White House--not the West Wing or the East Wing, just the house part. She meets them upstairs in a room that’s an oval shape, but not an office. It’s decorated in soft yellows and clean-lined, cream colored furniture.

She’s talking animatedly with Douglas, who is intently focused on the tablet he’s clutching in his hands, but when she sees them enter, she visibly changes gears. It’s like she shakes off this intense steely armor of competence and charge, and suddenly she’s beaming right at Tim in this deeply motherly way, that almost unnerves him, he hasn’t felt such a thing in so long.

“Sugar, I have brought you some boys--” Bud begins, striding forward, only to be cut off by Margaret, adding “And an old lady.”

Bud continues, unphased, “Darlin’, this is--”

But Elaine rolls her eyes, in a surprisingly fond way, and says, “Bud, you were barely invited to this gathering, don’t try to introduce my son’s boyfriend to me for him.” 

She looks expectantly at TJ, who puts his hand on Tim’s shoulder and walks them both forward. “Mama, this is Tim Gutterson.”

Tim has to restrain himself again, even more, from saluting the President. He’s pretty sure no one is expecting him to do that. He’s pretty sure it would be super awkward. His hand twitches, trying to rise and he sees her smile when she realizes. He opens his mouth to speak, but stops when she speaks first, saying, “Deputy Tim, it’s so nice to meet you,” and holds out her hand.

As he takes it, carefully, she adds, “Now, before you ‘ma’am’ me, I’m going to tell you not to bother. We don’t stand on ceremony within the family. Bud never did and I’m not about to start. I want you to call me Elaine.”

“Um. What?” Tim blurts before he can process a logical thought.

“Mama,” TJ steps in, pulling Tim slightly away by the shoulders. TJ’s hands are warm and steady. Tim feels himself turn bright red. “You can’t break him. He’s new and shiny.” He smiles at Tim and Tim can’t handle it, he looks away, hating to be the center of attention.

TJ moves now and embraces his mother. Tim catches Douglas’ eye and feels a little more at ease, since TJ’s twin is showing him a sympathetic smile. He holds his hand out and Douglas takes it. 

“Good to meet you,” he says. “TJ’s been talking about you non-stop since that photo came out.”

“Dougie, Jesus,” TJ says, but Tim smiles. He’d heard about the whole sort-of-argument the family had after the photo was printed. Tim doesn’t care and he likes that TJ was talking about him. He likes how real this all feels, surreal because of who these fucking people are, but solid in a way interacting with his own family never, ever felt.

“It’s really great to meet all of you,” Tim says sincerely and the goddamn President pats him on the shoulder.

 

Douglas’ wife, Anne, was apparently speaking with the chef and she meets them in the President’s Dining Room, which is also very white and cream, but with some pretty blues thrown in certain places. Tim doesn’t pay a whole bunch of attention because he’s staring at the spread on the table. He almost whistles.

It’s a lot of food. And it all seems to have been expertly cooked and artfully arranged. Tim feels like he’s going to mess it up by eating it. He looks over at TJ who seems upset by his hesitance, so he just digs in like everyone else is.

Naturally, since Tim is the newcomer, the conversation turns towards him. He’s asked about his job, and what he likes about it, also his time in the military, especially his time as a sniper in the Rangers.

Anne seems particularly impressed by that and Tim assumes the detail didn’t get passed along through the family channels to her.

TJ makes Tim blush again when he looks at her and says, “That’s right. Be jealous of my hot sniper boyfriend.”

His mother is suitably scandalized. Clearly looking for a slight change in the direction of the conversation, she looks at Tim and says, “Your family must be so proud of you.”

Tim almost inhales his glass of wine.

“ _Mother_ ,” TJ hisses and everyone is caught off guard by the vehemence in his tone.

Somewhere behind his fairly mindless panic at having to talk about his family in front of strangers, Tim is intensely thankful TJ understands that though the statement was innocent, it was incredibly wrong-footed. 

“What?” she asks as Bud comes in with, “It’s a perfectly reasonable assumption, TJ--”

“It’s kind of not,” TJ grinds out, then adds quietly, almost sheepishly, “We haven’t talked at all about that…”

Tim slides his hand under the table and over TJ’s knee, squeezing lightly. He looks at him and smiles, albeit a little uncertainly. “It’s fine,” he says. TJ’s favorite phrase for the evening. “My father is dead.” He doesn’t reserve any niceties like “passed away” for the man. “We...disagreed about some things. My mother and I...also disagree. I haven’t seen her since I joined up.”

“Which you did at 18,” Margaret says, maybe looking for clarification, or maybe wanting to lay it out for everyone.

Tim licks his lips. “Yeah.” He takes a sip of the wine, which is stupid good, and feels compelled to add. “I have an older sister, Angie. She got out,” he grimaces, he hadn't meant to say it that way, “when I was eight.”

It paints a picture and no one speaks.

Douglas, twisting his lips like TJ does when he's uncertain, asks after a long moment, "And where are you from?"

TJ sneers, leaning forward menacingly, "Like you don't already have his fucking file pulled--"

" _Boys_ ," Elaine cries, looking distressed. 

"I don't," Douglas says, hands raised. Everyone's pretty much stopped eating at this point, though no one is anywhere near done. "I was...I was going to wait."

TJ rolls his eyes.

"Portsmouth, Ohio," Tim interjects and everyone looks at him. "Well, a suburb, if you could call it that."

Bud's expression brightens and he says, "Well, I know--"

He's interrupted by the vibration of Douglas' phone. He reads the message and looks up with a serious expression, nodding to his mother.

"Oh dear," she says. "I was hoping we could at least get all the way through the meal before..." she trails off and straightens her shoulders. Looking at Tim specifically, she says, "I'm so sorry to have to leave like this, but you should all stay and finish your food. Please enjoy yourselves."

She gets up, giving one last apologetic smile, and leaves the table. Douglas kisses his wife, who looks disappointed yet clearly resigned, and follows her. Bud, whose expression has gone a little shifty, says he needs to make a phone call and leaves almost as quickly.

TJ is staring at his food, shoulders hunched as if each of them had struck a blow across his back as they left. Margaret doesn't seem to have any sympathy though. "You think she wants to do shit like that?" she hisses at him.

Anne excuses herself. She'd barely eaten anything at all.

TJ's face is mutinous as he looks back at his grandmother, but he doesn't speak.

Tim tightens his hand on TJ's knee.

They eat their cooling food in silence and when Margaret is finished, after TJ has already given up, cradling his head in his hands as if it's aching, she says, "I'm gonna hitch a ride home. I know you boys probably want to talk."

After she leaves the room, which is darker now that the sun has gone down, TJ lifts his head, smiles helplessly at Tim and says, “Let’s get drunk.”

Tim leans over and kisses him. “Okay,” he replies. Why the hell not?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for all your wonderful responses. It seems I'm fulfilling a lot of people's unconscious desires with this fic. ;) I hope I can keep it up!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim and TJ are finally alone.

TJ takes Tim to another room. This one is decorated in reds and browns with darkwood bookshelves lining the walls.

"There's a secret booze cabinet in here," he tells Tim.

"You remember that from all those years ago?" Tim asks.

TJ grins. "No way. I mean, sure I'd remember. But everything's different now anyway. First thing they do when administration changes is tear everything up, decorate the place all over again. Dougie told me about it like the second week they were in. He'd had a rough day."

Tim pulls TJ close, kissing him fast, taking him by surprise.

"What?"

Tim shakes his head, smiling. "Nothing. Show me where it is?"

TJ slides a cabinet near a window open in the opposite way than you'd expect and pulls out a bottle of expensive scotch and two tumblers.

"No ice, huh?" Tim asks.

TJ raises his brows as he pours out generously from the bottle. "You gonna cry about it?"

Tim takes the glass. "No."

TJ kisses him now and backs him into the elegantly scrolled sofa in the center of the room. "Don't you want to go back to your house?" Tim asks him curiously. "Or we could go out? We don't have to stay here."

There's something dark in TJ's eyes still when he answers, "Well, we're here. Might as well show you the damn White House."

Tim touches TJ's face, at his cheek, with the pad of his thumb. TJ looks into his eyes. "Margaret said you don't like coming here," Tim says, admittedly fishing.

TJ makes a face and shrugs, but Tim waits. He thinks TJ wants to talk about it.

After a long moment of silence, he does. "You know," he says, "I was so excited for Mama when she won. I always knew she was the one who'd make the better president. But when she moved back in here and I...I hadn’t been back, not since they sent me to boarding school." 

He sighs, settling into Tim's lap and leaning close to him as he continues to speak, softly, and more intimately than Tim thinks they ever have before. "Don’t get me wrong. Most of my memories of this place are happy, actually. Almost all of them are. Despite all the bullshit, this was a really cool place to live. I never loved it as much as I loved the farm, but this was home for a big chunk of my childhood.”

He wraps his hand around the back of Tim's neck. It's not a gesture that's sexually charged in any way. No, Tim thinks, this is just about getting closer. 

TJ admits, “I never realized how much the last few months changed how I felt about it.”

“What about it changed?” Tim asks softly.

“For a while, after everything came out, I couldn’t leave. Like, there were reporters lined up along Pennsylvania Avenue. They could keep them away from the house, but you could still see them at the gate and Mama wouldn’t let me go anywhere. Not even to school. I don’t think it was to punish me or anything. But… it felt like a prison anyway. And when I come back here now, I can’t shake that feeling. Even though they look almost totally different, these rooms feel the same. They feel like a trap."

Tim kisses the side of TJ's thinned lips. "I won’t ask you for a tour, then,” he says.

TJ frowns, pulling back. "Did you want one?"

Tim lifts his hands to cradle TJ's face. "Sweetheart, I could care less. I just didn't want you to think we have to stay here for me, or if you..." he hesitates, but says it anyway, "feel like you need to punish someone."

TJ's eyes widen and Tim thinks for a minute he might pull entirely away, but then his brows crease pathetically and he whispers, "Jesus, where the fuck did you come from, Tim?"

Tim grins, his heart starting to beat faster. He wants to be what TJ needs. It's incredibly exhilarating to think he's at least coming close.

"Portsmouth, Ohio," Tim murmurs. "Weren't you paying attention?"

"I can't believe them," TJ groans.

Tim gives him a weak smile and decides to say another thing he's been thinking, since they’re all about heart-to-hearts right now. He tightens his grip for just a moment around the back of TJ's neck then lets his hands fall to grasp at his hips where he's sitting pretty much in Tim's lap. TJ gives him a curious look. Tim's mouth is open.

"TJ," he says slowly, "my father was abusive and religion turned my mother into a right-wing nut job. I'm not telling you this for sympathy or to like feel superior to you or something. I'm saying this because what just happened to you was kind of shitty. But it would have never, ever happened to me. I just...thought you might want some perspective."

TJ closes his eyes tightly and pulls himself even closer to Tim, pressing his face into Tim's shoulder and breathing deeply.

"It's not wrong to want better from them, sweetheart. But it's clear they're trying." Tim presses his lips to the warm skin behind TJ's ear. "They love you," he whispers.

TJ pulls back swiftly, pressing his hands to his eyes. They'd both set their drinks on the plush carpet at their feet. "I know," he says. "God, I'm such a child. Listen to me. Poor little--"

" _Don't_ ," Tim says and TJ shuts his mouth, surprised. "Don't do that, okay?"

TJ kisses him again.

He pulls back and reaches down for their glasses. Tim takes his as TJ downs his own. Tim's pretty sure his tolerance isn't nearly so high, so he sips at the burning gold liquid and licks it lowly off his lips.

"Tell me about your grandmother," TJ says. His eyelids fall languidly as he twists in Tim's lap so he's lying on his back on the generous sofa and Tim can shift to lie next to him. He puts his glass down again first.

Tim frowns, confused, but then he remembers he unwisely said something about Gamma to Margaret the night before. Shit, half that conversation he thought he'd dreamed.

"She was my mother's mother," he says to begin. "My father came from people he wouldn't talk about, back in Missouri, I think. Gamma--" he breaks off for a minute when TJ grins and giggles softly at him. "Shut up."

"No, it's so cute. Please, go on, baby."

Tim grimaces. "She didn't like my father. Not a lot of people did." He frowns and steers things back to her. TJ's got his hands up in Tim's hair, and it's making it hard for him to get a linear thought going. He feels like he's going to bounce around and he's buzzed because seriously, who mixes white wine and scotch?

"Gamma was a writer, mostly for contract. She wrote more than half the Lacey Burns Mysteries."

"What? Seriously?" TJ asks delightedly. "Mama is a big fan of those. She's got the whole collection, first editions, in the library at the townhouse. I used to read them sometimes to make her smile. I liked them. They were funny."

"So was Gamma. I would go to her house on weekends, for long stretches in the summer time. She lived in Athens, Ohio. Not too far from us, but far enough. Her husband was a student and from there, I think. After he graduated, he was drafted and died in Korea. She raised my mother by herself, fit herself right into the literary community at the University. People in the town used to say she was a dyke because she never got married again and I don't think she was, but I do think she always knew about me."

Tim's head is pillowed on TJ's chest now and he can't stop himself from just saying it all. He never told Decker about Gamma, they never talked about family when they talked about home, just food and fucking. He's never told anybody.

"She was sort of glamorous. She always had a cigarette in her hand and after five o’clock she'd mix gin cocktails for herself. She'd drink them slowly and write at her typewriter in her office, which she moved into the old living room with the bay window after my mother left home. She gave me books to read and then we'd talk about them when I finished. She taught me more about literature than anybody in the public school system or in the college courses I took between tours."

Tim closes his eyes.

"She died of lung cancer when I was seventeen. After that, everything blew up. I couldn't go to her house to get away. One night I rolled my eyes at him in a funny way or did something with my hand he didn't like--I'd always been so careful, I don't know what it was--but he asked me if I was a homo and I couldn't lie. She told me--told me in the hospital not to try and be somebody I wasn't, not to change myself to make things easy. I think I fucked that up at this point, but then--then I just couldn't. He'd never hit me before that night. The threat was always there, but he never did it until I told him, 'So what if I am?'"

"Oh, baby," TJ sighs, pulling his arm tight around Tim's shoulders.

"I was a ghost in that house until graduation. The very next day I joined up and I haven't been back. Not even when he died. He did that when I was in Basic."

"How?"

"Somebody shot him for oxy money."

"Shit." 

That aways seemed to surprise people. Unless they were from Portsmouth, the hillbilly heroin capital of the world.

Tim keeps talking. "I wanted to do it. I had a plan. I had all this training. I was going to go back and I was going to shoot him."

"Timmy," TJ whispers, his lips are in Tim's hair. "I gotta say, I'm so glad you didn't." Tim doesn't speak and after a minute or two of silence, TJ asks softly, "What about your mother?"

"Living in that house was a nightmare," Tim says. "I think he drove her half-crazy and the thing that saved her was this church. The pastor took a special interest, tried to counsel them both, and when he wouldn't have it, just her. I think it saved her, really. But...it felt like everything took this giant swing to the Right in that town, when things were turning so bad and everyone was losing their jobs. Pretty soon all you'd hear was fire and brimstone and no abortions and god hates fags. She ate all that bullshit up too."

Tim opens his eyes again and his gaze settles on an expensive looking blue and white china vase off in the corner of the room. It's the one cool thing in a sea of darkening warmth. The sun’s gone down.

"I think she tried to pretend she didn't hear me when I told him. But he wouldn't shut up about it. She got in the way after he hit me the first time, she did try to stop him, but I wasn't denying it. I think she thought I'd take it back and she really could pretend it never happened, but I didn't do that. She backed off when she realized, and when he said he'd kill her too. After, when she was cleaning me up, she told me all this shit her pastor said, about how evil it was, how I could change it. She talked about AIDS and God striking people down and how she feared for my life and wouldn't I pray with her?"

TJ huffs sadly, but Tim can't stop now. He's on a fucking roll. He’s breathing heavily from all these goddamn words. He tightens his fingers, fisting them around TJ’s lapel.

"I puked in the bathtub and pushed her away, told her to shut up and leave me alone. I was so...I blamed him for her. Maybe it was irrational--the bitter, single-mindedness of a fucked-up teenager. She made her own choices. But to me, it was all his fault. Everything was his fault."

Tim sighs deeply. He makes himself let it go.

"She calls me on holidays and she asks me if I'm seeing any nice girls. I think she thinks the Army straightened me out. What a fucking laugh. I tell her I'm too busy for dating and she seems satisfied. She never asks if I'm coming to visit and I wouldn't even if she did."

He sits up now, suddenly and TJ looks up at him, concerned. "Tim, I didn't mean to--"

"No, it's fine," Tim says and doesn't even have to force a smile. "I wanted to tell you. I think I wanted to for a while. It's just...hard in a text, I guess." He leans down and picks up his drink, feeling unsteady. He downs the whole thing like TJ did before and asks, "You want another?"

TJ nods.

They get way more drunk together and make out some more and talk about things that are not big deals at all. 

TJ loses some of the wariness in his eyes and pulls Tim through the rooms by his hand, telling him dumb stories about things that happened to him or around him in each, interjecting interesting trivia he’d gathered over the years. They laugh obnoxiously at the art someone decided to put on the walls of the East Room, some Thomas Kinkade style bullshit, and they suck each other off in the Queen’s Bathroom.

“Mama will kill me if the maids find come on any of this goddamn upholstery,” TJ had said.

They make it back eventually to the room with the red sofa and they toast their final glasses of scotch, pretty much killing the bottle, to something full of laughter and wonder. Tim can’t really get a good grasp on the words even as TJ’s slurring them. 

They kiss again, sloppily, and fall asleep.

Tim is woken some time later by a shifting of the light in the room. A door is opened and then closed and there’s soft footfalls on the carpet. He dismisses it for a moment, thinking it half a dream, then opens his eyes to see Douglas seated in a chair opposite them. He’s smiling softly and looking at his brother. When Tim shifts, he transfers his gaze.

“Everything go all right?” Tim asks him in a whisper.

Douglas nods. “Crisis averted.”

“Same here, I think,” Tim says and Douglas’ smile grows wider. He looks weary and a little sad, even with the pleased expression.

“Thank you,” he says sincerely. “And sorry about before.”

Before Tim can say it was nothing, not a big deal, TJ startles awake, then relaxes almost instantaneously. Douglas looks at him, maybe with a little bit of reproach for being so clearly trashed. 

“Hey, Little Brother,” he murmurs and Douglas’ expression just melts. “You know who to ask to get a room in the goddamn hotel?”

Douglas laughs, nearly silently, but fully, with his whole body. “Come on, boys,” he says, standing. “I’ll get you sorted out.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter got a little heavy, but I think these boys were due for some serious chats. As usual, please keep your comments coming. They really do help a bunch with the motivation! <3


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are really good and the press offers some complications.

TJ and Tim spend the night in the Lincoln bedroom.

They screw in Lincoln's bed in the morning. Well, metaphorically speaking, as TJ's sure the bed's been changed like ten times over.

It's a little sloppy, as they're both slightly hungover, but Tim is sweet and sucks him off in an especially caring way. When he's finished he flops down next to TJ and cuddles close. "You're a terrible influence," he grumbles good-naturedly.

"And you're the best," TJ murmurs sleepily. He's about to drift off again when his phone buzzes.

_Get out of Honest Abe's bed and come have brunch with me and Anne_ , Dougie's sent.

TJ laughs softly, nuzzling at Tim's neck and whispering in his ear as he hands him the phone to read, "I know you want _mimosas_."

"I can't even believe you're ready to drink again," Tim says, groaning.

"Hair of the dog, baby. You'll feel better." He pushes Tim on his back, kissing in earnest now, under his ear and across his collarbone.

Tim leans his head back, exposing his pretty neck, drawing his hands up TJ's arms to his shoulders. "I'll feel better if you get me back before we go," he says, looking at TJ with a crazy amount of heat in his eyes.

TJ grins, "Like I wasn't planning on it."

"Text your brother first," Tim suggests. 

TJ kind of loves him. "You're so practical," he says in a lusty voice, taking his phone back, and Tim laughs at him. Tim is the best when he's laughing.

 

They meet at a place on Dupont Circle that has bottomless mimosas and a patio. Dougie knows what TJ likes.

Tim does order a drink and he and Anne and TJ talk about movies while Dougie looks down at his phone and says, "Yeah, I missed that one too."

TJ orders french toast with berries on it, Anne gets an egg white omelet and Tim and Dougie get regular omelets with a bunch of shit inside them. Tim gets a side of grits too. Dougie smiles at him and says, "Dad would call you a 'Good man,' just for that order."

TJ laughs and rolls his eyes. "And not for anything else he might do."

Tim looks confused. "Man, I just like grits."

"Dad thinks they're a dying art. Mostly because he doesn't get to eat in many places that 'does them right.'" Dougie explains.

TJ pitches in with, "And by that he means in all the shitty Waffle Houses throughout the South."

"Or the way Grandma Hammond made them," Dougie laughs.

"Or Jubal's first wife, uh, Pauline," TJ says. "Jesus, that woman could cook."

"Oh man, don't remind me. I can't even eat okra at all anymore. It just makes me sad."

"I think Mama wanted to make her White House chef, but she thought it might hurt Jubal's feelings. And her waistline." TJ adds a wink to that one and Dougie rolls his eyes.

Tim looks between them and bites at his lip like he's trying not to smile. Anne catches on, beaming. "They're doing their twin thing," she leans to the side to tell Timmy. "They _hardly ever_ do that anymore. I missed it."

"We don't have a twin thing," TJ says at the same time Dougie defends, "We're just talking, honey."

"Talking like nobody else is here," she teases. "And a mile a minute."

TJ looks away, thinking Mama used to tell them almost nobody could understand what they said to each other when they were little, they would talk so fast, and use words that meant things only they knew. It wasn't really a language, more like a series of inside jokes, just thrown into conversation. They don't use any of those words anymore, TJ can barely remember them, but he knows he and Dougie can get into a rhythm when they talk, it's just that the opportunity for them to sit down like this seems so rare lately. And has for a long time. TJ knows he's partly to blame for that.

But he's missed it too.

Right before he turns his attention back to the table, wanting to share a smile with his brother, he catches the blink of a flash bulb across the street.

Shit.

Tim's hand is casually laid over TJ's. They're really in it now.

When he says as much to the table, nodding in the direction the flash came from, nobody spares a glance except for Tim. Carter, who's standing beside the table (it's always him and never Dougie's for some reason) says, "I can send a man over."

TJ looks at Tim who shrugs. "It's just a matter of time, I guess. I'm..." he grimaces. "Ready's not the word...Resigned." He squeezes TJ's hand. "Anyway, I'm boring. Whatever they're looking for to sensationalize, they won't find it."

TJ nods to Carter. At Dougie's questioning look, he says, "I just don't want them following us around all day. I wanted to take Tim to the Eastern Market before the airport. Antiques and pastries, Dougie!"

Dougie laughs. "I don't think Tim is gonna forget you're gay, TJ."

"Haha," TJ grumbles at him as Tim leans in to give him a kiss on the cheek.

"It sounds awesome," he says.

 

The airport security gate is sort of a scene. TJ had made a production of getting them both giant sunglasses, “for disguise,” and coming with him as far as he could go before the TSA would remove him.

They stand close in the security line and talk about the campaign stops Dougie’s assistant sent over to Johanna, who gave them to TJ and Tim to look over in the car to the airport. Tim thought he could reasonably drive to a couple of them over the next month. One in Indiana and another in Nashville, if Art would be good enough to give him those weekends.

“I’m still sad you can’t come back for Pride,” TJ pouts, pushing his hand into Tim’s back pocket. They’re almost to the front of the line. Tim’s got to hand over his driver’s license in a second.

“I can’t take all Rachel’s weekends from her, sweetheart,” he says.

TJ smiles, more at the endearment, Tim thinks, than anything he said. “You’re so good,” he murmurs.

Tim grins wickedly, “Not always.”

“Well, now you’re being _mean_.” TJ’s jaw is tense.

“I’ll see you soon,” Tim reminds him. “Indiana, remember?”

They’re getting stares, but Tim kisses him anyway and walks through to the metal detectors and that creepy-ass body scanner.

Tim’s flight back from DC is not a big deal at all. 

He gets in late and crashes. Monday morning he gets to work and Raylan throws the _National Enquirer_ on his desk. Tim picks it up, carefully looking at the rather cute candid shot of him and TJ with their hands intertwined at the brunch table. The headline, however, reads, _Is TJ’s New Boyfriend Also His Dealer?_

Raylan’s smirking at him. “Well, are you?”

Tim rolls his eyes.

“Come on. I want in on that.”

“Shut up, asshole.”

Raylan sits down, setting his hat on the inbox next to his computer, like that’s going to make it less likely Art will throw him a case. “You know, this photographer is probably AP or something. Everybody’s gonna have the photos and someone’s actually going to do some investigating, find you out, soon. I’m betting on _US Weekly_.”

Tim tilts his head. “Not _People_?”

“They try to stay away from the political figures. ‘Cause sometimes they get those pretty spreads, get invited to people’s homes and stuff. Didn’t the other brother’s wife do a thing with them a few years ago?”

Tim shrugs. “She might have. She’s a designer.” He smiles. “They’re really nice people.”

“Of course they are,” Raylan says like that’s a given.

 

True to all predictions, Tim has a reporter at his door in the morning.

He was already awake, but the knock is a surprise. He peers through the peep-hole, heaves a sigh and opens the door.

The reporter is little more than a kid. He’s got big, thick black glasses and kind of a greased up pompadour thing going on. He’d be sort of cute if he wasn’t a baby. 

His eyes widen when he sees Tim. “Sweet Zombie Jesus, it is you,” he says.

Tim just frowns at him.

The boy reporter starts to look a little nervous. “You are…” he pauses to look down at some hastily written notes on a small pad of paper, “US Marshal Tim Gutterson? You’re dating TJ Hammond...right? It’s you.”

“My title is _Deputy_ US Marshal,” Tim says. “At least print it right. This is not an interview.”

“But you’re not denying you’re TJ’s partner?” Boy reporter’s starting to look real excited.

Tim shakes his head, tightening his grip on the door knob. He’s ready to slam it in the boy’s face. “What would be the point? But seriously. I’m not giving an interview. Everything you need to know is public record, kid. Go do some research.”

Boy reporter rolls his eyes. “TMZ doesn’t pay me to do research.”

“Yeah, just to bother people until they look like a-holes all the time,” Tim says. “Look, I’m already generally an a-hole to people I don’t like. I don’t care what America thinks of me. I’m not trying to make a good impression.” Tim’s scowling now because he realizes he’s just made his very own, “I’m not here to make friends” speech and that’s idiotic.

“Do you think your relationship will last even though it’s long distance?” Boy reporter asks, not batting an eye.

Tim slams the door in his face.

 

Tim makes it to TMZ before _US Weekly_ , but he tells TJ over the phone, “Raylan was right. _People_ didn’t run it.”

TJ laughs. Tim can tell he’s lying on his back. His laugh is always louder, more full, then. “Oh, they _love_ Mama. She always gives them a big spread near elections. They’ll probably get Anne involved again this time around.”

Tim’s looking at his bookshelf, deciding what to read next. He’s feeling a little lost. He wants something familiar. “Not you and me?” he asks, hardly thinking about it.

There’s a pause, just for a beat. “Would you do that?”

Tim stops his finger over the spine of his beat up copy of _Starship Troopers_. He’s not going to read it. He can’t stomach Heinlein anymore. “Um. Not...not so soon? Maybe...if…” He just breaks down. He can’t not assume they’ll be together in the future. He’s not going to think that way. “Someday,” he says. “I don’t think I’d mind that much.”

Not so long ago, he wouldn’t even have been able to wrap his head around it. There would have been no world in which he’d ever do such a thing.

That was a world without TJ.

“I’m going to read _The Belgariad_ ,” Tim tells his boyfriend.

“Never heard of it,” he replies. “Should I get a copy? Is this a thing I should know about?” TJ gets sensitive sometimes about being literarily ill-informed. 

“Honey, it’s a fantasy series from the 80’s. It’s sort of trash...well, no, it’s not. It’s just been done a lot now. Hero’s journey kind of stuff. Lost Prince finds destiny, becomes king, kills bad guy, gets the girl--”

“Well, now you spoiled it!” TJ huffs, “I’m going to read it anyway.”

Tim won’t hurt TJ’s feelings by saying he’s not sure it’s his thing. “We’ll start a book club,” he says instead.

Three hours later he gets a text that says, _got it on my phone from amazon. this garion kid is kind of an asshole_

 

Two days later, Tim gets a call from his mother.

He’s distracted, in the car driving down to Harlan, and doesn’t check who it is. “Gutterson,” he says, merging onto a different highway.

“Timothy,” she says. “It’s your mother.”

Shit. Shit shit shit.

He didn’t even think about this. Of course she would find out. What an idiot.

“Mom,” he says numbly. “Hi.”

“Son,” she says--he doesn’t know why she does that, like he’s going to forget who he is to her. “I’ve received some troubling news.”

Tim makes a face, a terrible, pained grimace. He shakes his head no. He’s going to make her work for this. He’s not going to build a bridge here so she doesn’t have to speak the words. “Have you?”

“Yes, I have. Everyone has, Timothy, please. It’s all over the papers in the Kroger. Your picture...with that-that poor, troubled boy.”

Troubling. Troubled. Everything’s trouble for them in her mind. It can’t be anything good. Tim lets out a breath.

“I thought you said you were seeing girls?” she asks, as if mystified. “How can this...why would anyone fabricate such…” she trails off.

No one would. That doesn’t make a goddamn bit of sense. But, it’s all she wants. She just wants Tim to lie to her.

“Mom, I never told you I was seeing girls. You said that. I said I was busy. I met someone. I like him. A lot. No one’s telling any lies,” he says, then adds, “Well, the _National Enquirer_ is a joke. I’m not smuggling coke out of police stations for him.”

“Timothy, I told the congregation you were _fine_. I told them--”

“Mother,” he cuts her off, growling. “I _am_ fine. It’s not my fault you told those people what you did. They’re nothing to me and I don’t give a shit. I’m sorry I’m not what you wanted, but I’m finally actually living the life that _I_ want now, with someone that I really care about. Please don’t try to feed me any of your bigoted bullshit. I can’t listen to it today.”

“Son, your soul is--”

“I’m hanging up the phone, Mother. I’m sorry you had to find out about my boyfriend this way.”

She calls him back twice before she gives up.

Tim has a shitty time in Harlan and on the drive back up he calls TJ. He talks through chasing the dirty hillbilly out of his house and into his dirty pool. He doesn’t say just what information he was looking for, but he says he got it and TJ huffs a laugh and calls him a badass.

Then he says, his voice dropping low, “Are you all wet?”

Tim tells him he can’t do this while he’s fucking driving. “Come on, seriously? You’re the worst!”

He listens to his boyfriend come anyway and practically sprints into the shower so he can rub one out. Later, he texts, _Most uncomfortable last hour ever. K THNX GOODNITE._

He doesn’t tell TJ about his mom. He tells himself he just forgot. Then he tells himself it doesn’t matter.

He’s good. He’s really really good.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay on this one. I was a little blocked and a lot busy during the week. I think my mind needed a tiny break, but these boys are too cute to stay away from long. <3
> 
> Thanks for reading and please please, keep your comments coming. I missed them!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is adorable always. Also, Pride happens.

“Johanna, will you go to Pride with me?” TJ asks from inside his closet. He heard her enter the room. He knows she’s there.

“I’m sorry, honey,” she calls, probably sitting down at his desk. “I have to go to a family reunion in Hershey. I’m taking the bus tonight. I thought I told you. It’s a yearly thing. They _never_ change the date.”

“Ugh,” TJ groans. She had told him. He just totally forgot.

He has friends he could call. Sort of. But they’re people he knew a while ago now and he doesn’t really relish the idea of watching them do blow all day long. It’s not something he needs. 

He hates the idea that he’s become so lame, that he has no one to go to Pride with.

“I’m pathetic,” he announces.

“You keep using that word,” she says as he emerges, having found the pair of white sneakers with rainbow laces he bought for last year’s Pride. “I do not think it means what you think it means.”

TJ huffs. “Maybe I won’t go,” he says glumly.

“Nonsense. I cleared your schedule. And look, you found those shoes you were obsessing about.” 

TJ drops the shoes and throws himself on the bed.

“Do I need to call your grandmother? She’ll just call you a whiner. I think that might be worse than pathetic.” She turns away and back to the computer at his desk. “Listen. I’ll get back from my family thing late Sunday and then we catch a plane to Arizona at like 5:00 am. Seriously, TJ, you’ve got three school visits and a campaign stop with your mother for the next week and a half. You really need to have fun tomorrow or you’re gonna go crazy on me.”

“What’s fun about wandering around in a giant crowd of sweaty, smelly, festival goers if you don’t have anyone to get drunk with?” he whines.

Ugh. So pathetic. And movie quotes aside. TJ _definitely_ knows what the word means. He’s been living it for most of his adult life. He doesn’t care if Johanna disagrees.

 

Tim is reading outside on his tiny balcony, which houses one plant and one chair, on a really nice Saturday afternoon. He’s on call today and has to go in to the office tomorrow, so he’s decided not to do anything too strenuous. He’s missing the shot of whiskey he wanted in his lemonade, but otherwise it’s really nice.

He’d made it to the part near the end of _The Queen of Sorcery_ when Garion is a big dumbass and gets kidnapped in Nyissa when his phone rings.

Smiling when he sees it’s TJ, he answers saying, “Hey you.”

“Hey,” TJ says and Tim is pretty sure something is bothering him. “What are you doing?”

“Reading about sorcerers, dumb princes, and faux-Egyptian Queens,” Tim replies. “I’m thinking about skipping this over part though. It’s pretty racist and kind of homophobic.”

“Babe, if you hate it so much, why did you tell me to read it?” Oh, TJ is really grumpy.

Tim sort of laughs, shaking his head. “I don’t hate it. It’s one of those things you have to read when you’re fourteen or it won’t make sense to you why anyone likes it. And it’s not _that_ homophobic. It’s not like it’s Xanth or something.”

“Timmy, I don’t know what the fuck you’re talking about.”

“Well, I didn’t tell you to read it anyway. You offered.”

TJ groans. “You’re _right_. Ugh, I’m the _worst_.”

Tim sets his book down. “Sweetheart, what did we decide?” 

“Only you get to call me that and you’re never going to mean it.”

“Exactly. Now, what’s the matter?”

There’s a long pause and Tim licks his lips nervously. He wonders if TJ is thinking about lying to him. He’s not sure he could tell this early in their relationship. He thinks about the stupid thing with his mother again. It’s been too long now, though. TJ will want to know why he didn’t say anything right away.

“I don’t have anyone to go to Pride with,” he says is a rush. “I think maybe I won’t go. It’s always a madhouse, hard to get in, hard to leave--”

“TJ,” Tim interrupts him. “You love crowds.” TJ had told him that not long after they started texting. Tim understands. It’s a way to get lost.

“I don’t know,” TJ admits. “You’re right, I mean. I just...last year was different. I didn’t...I didn’t _care_ , you know? I think it might be bad if I go by myself.”

Last year, TJ was doing the sobriety talks, but he wasn’t exactly sober. He wasn’t a wreck, but he’d been on his way down until he pulled himself out of a tailspin--Tim thinks admiringly--all on his own. 

“Okay, sweetheart,” Tim says, trying to put support in his voice. “I have to go in to work, but if nobody else is there, maybe we can skype and watch a movie.”

TJ sighs. “How are you so good?”

Tim doesn’t think he is, so he says, “Army training, sir.”

TJ laughs.

 

It’s several hours later, when Tim is halfway through _Magician’s Gambit_ that he thinks of the solution to TJ’s problem. He almost texts TJ to ask him if it’s possible, but he frowns and, on a whim that seems insane to not have been born of alcohol consumption, dials Dougie’s number.

Before Tim left brunch that Sunday in DC, Dougie had put Tim’s number in his phone and Tim had pretended to do the same, even though he already had it. He and TJ didn’t say anything about his being included in the support system so early in their relationship. Tim hadn’t needed to call anyone anyway. It really wasn't a big deal.

Not like what Tim was about to do.

Like so many busy professional people, Dougie must not have looked at his phone when he answered it. He says, “This is Douglas Hammond.”

“Hi, Doug...las, it’s Tim...Gutterson.” Already so awkward.

“Tim, hey,” Douglas sounds confused, then concerned. “Is everything okay?”

“Yeah,” Tim assures him. “Yeah, of course. Uh, sorry. Everything’s fine, it’s just…”

Douglas has clearly stepped out of whatever busy room he’d just been inside of. His voice is friendly and kind. “What can I do for you, Tim?”

“Well,” Tim hesitates, then just goes for it. “You can go to Pride with your brother tomorrow. I mean, if you’re not busy.”

“Pride?” Douglas is clearly surprised. “Shit, is that tomorrow?”

Tim sighs, not angrily. Of course Dougie didn’t know when it was. Of course, TJ didn’t even think to ask him. “Yeah. And TJ, uh, he’s really down because he doesn’t have anyone to go with that...won’t be a bad influence. He’s saying he doesn’t think he’s going to go. Honestly, he’s being really amazing about the whole thing, but I just...really think it would be...well, I just wanted to tell you.”

“Yeah,” Douglas says, distractedly. Tim hopes he’s doing some scheduling in his head and not that his attention has been pulled away by a staffer or something. “Yeah,” he says again. “That’s really amazing. I think...yeah.” there’s a long pause then Douglas says, “ _Thank you_ , Tim.”

Tim smiles. “No problem.”

“And we’re seeing you in Indiana, right?” A door opens now and Tim doesn’t know if Dougie’s wading back in or if someone’s just let the air out for a minute.

“Wouldn’t miss it,” Tim says.

“Awesome. Bring a tux.”

Dougie hangs up before Tim can ask, “ _What_?”

 

TJ ignores the knock on his door at 10:00 am. He told pretty much everyone--meaning Nana and Carter--he was planning to wallow in sadness and despair today. He feels justified in ignoring the door, rolling over, and going back to sleep.

He doesn't expect the door to open, or Dougie to flop unceremoniously onto his bed a moment later.

"Wake up, Big Brother," Dougie says, flicking TJ's ear like an eight-year-old. "We'll never get a decent spot in line at the beer garden at this rate."

TJ thinks that's a weird thing for him to say.

He lifts his head groggily. TJ is not a morning person. "Wha?"

Dougie's grinning at him like a maniac. "We're going to Pride, sleepyhead. Look, I've got my button and everything. Now get up!"

Dougie did, in fact, have a button on his powder blue polo that says "Capital Pride '99." It was the first one they'd successfully been able to sneak out together for. They'd gotten in so much trouble. It was only two months later that TJ was outed.

TJ frowns at him. "You never remember when Pride is," he says.

Something almost hurt flashes across Dougie's face, but it's gone in a moment, and he says, "You're right. Your boyfriend reminded me. I cleared my schedule, TJ. You want to go don't you?"

TJ can't even identify or quantify the feelings that rush up in him as he processes what Dougie just told him. He pulls his arms fast around Dougie's neck, drawing him close and pushing the air out of both their lungs. "Oh my _God_ ," he says.

Dougie tightens his arms around TJ's waist. "I'm just busy, TJ. I'm not dead. If you need something, please, _please_ ask me."

TJ shakes his head. "I didn't even think about it. Fuck. Tim..." he trails off. He doesn't know what to say.

"You hold onto that boy, TJ," Dougie laughs. "He's not just good for you. I think he's going to be good for all of us."

"My _magic_ sexy sniper boyfriend," TJ murmurs, pulling away and rubbing at his eyes. "Jesus, he's going to get _such_ a blowjob--"

"Now that's shit I don't need to hear about," Dougie interrupts him. "Go put on all your rainbow. The metro's going to be a madhouse."

TJ climbs out of the bed, adjusting his boxers while Dougie pulls out his phone. "I was going to take a taxi."

"Traffic's going to be worse. We'll never get in that way this late in the morning."

"What about the service?" TJ asks, using the vaguely coded word they used to use for their security detail when they were both still going to public school.

"Two plainclothes will ride with us. I already arranged it." Dougie's clearly writing an email while he talks.

"Look at you, Mr. Chief of Staff Fancy-pants." TJ calls as he pulls on his feather vest. No shirt today, no sir. He steps out of his closet and tells Dougie, "You better not have that thing out all day long."

"I'll only check my email when you text your hot sniper boyfriend." Dougie grins at him. "Also, you look ridiculous."

TJ is wearing the rainbow shoes he'd found yesterday and a pair of knee-length, acid-wash, skinny, cut-off jeans. "Little brother, Pride is not all that different now than it was in '99. So, take off that fucking polo and pull out one of my old DC Center t-shirts or something."

 

During the parts of the metro ride where he can get reception, TJ texts his boyfriend. _OMG WHAT ARE YOU? SORCERER? ELF? CLEARLY, YOURE THE GREATEST_

_I just called your brother, dummy._

TJ grins down at his phone, glancing up to see Dougie frowning at his next to him on the crowded train. He types, _TIMMY. I'm SO EXCITED. It's cool if I make out with EVERYONE right?_

He grins even wider when he gets Tim's answer, _Knock yourself out, kid. Just don't take anybody home._

 _like dougie would let me_ , he shoots back, then adds, _or like i want to, dummy_

 

The day's not too humid, but the sun is high and hot already. TJ and Dougie stroll through the crowd, looking causally at the booths, not really straying too near. Sometimes people recognize them if they linger and it’s always awkward smiles and people clearly trying to decide if they should say something or not.

TJ picks up some buttons because he’s an admitted button hoarder. He’s got a giant shoe box, like the kind women’s knee-high boots are sold in--he may still have the boots somewhere--full of them. He slides them in his pocket and tugs Dougie in the direction of one of the beer tents.

“One beer and then we go dance,” TJ says.

Dougie gives him a look like he’s going to need at least three. 

TJ doesn’t budge. He looks down at the pamphlet he picked up when they entered the cordoned off area of Pennsylvania Avenue. “Oh, the DJ tent has beer too. Two beers and then you _have_ to dance with me.” When Dougie doesn’t say anything, TJ cries, rather loudly, “How am I going to make out with random boys if we’re not dancing?”

“He’s got a point,” someone in front of them in the line says.

But Dougie gives him a look that’s almost disappointed. “You’re gonna go searching for people to kiss when it’s the _magical_ work of your boyfriend that got me to come with you?”

TJ rolls his eyes. “Dougie, after all these years, you clearly still don’t know how Pride works. Tim’s a baby and he totally gets it. See!” He holds his phone up so Dougie and peer at their texts. “He told me to go for it!”

“Damn right,” that same person says. TJ cranes his neck, but he can’t tell who it is until a man with a trim beard, thinning hair, and a hell of a lot of rainbow eye shadow, leans across about four other people in line and says, eyes wide, “Is that the new boyfriend you’re talking about? Good for you, honey. He can get it.”

Dougie's brows rise comically. He leans close to TJ and asks, "What can he get?"

TJ bursts out laughing.

Dougie's pretty mad TJ won't answer his question.

 

In the DJ and beer tent TJ makes Dougie practically chug his whole beer in 90 seconds. It's impressive that Dougie can do it and they have a hell of a lot of fun on the dance floor after.

TJ has always thought Dougie is a hilarious dancer. Despite his embarrassingly earnest attempts to master the Backstreet Boys' dances when they were teenagers, it's not that he looks dumb or other people think that these days. Dougie's fine. But he just makes TJ smile, and then grin, and then laugh at him, until Dougie gets all self-conscious and yells "What?!" over the music. TJ only shakes his head.

They get a ton of invitations, and a few out and out demands, to grind with a variety of men over the course of the next hour or so. At first Dougie is sweet with his protests, telling the boys "I'm married," and then "I'm straight," to which most of them reply, "So?"

TJ's not so discriminating, but every once in a while he breaks away from who's dancing up on him at grab at Dougie's hand and pull him away. They dance together and then Dougie gets annoyed again that TJ is laughing at him. 

TJ gets his wish and makes out with at least three really hot guys, one of whom gives him a master class in tongue action. It's sort of insane. Then the guy, this tall as fuck guy with a greasy ponytail and strings of hair in his eyes, wearing no shirt and a million beads around his neck, who by TJ's guess and the cant of his smile, looks like he probably took mushrooms before noon, turns right around and kisses Dougie. 

He gets the same master class as TJ, and looks like he's kind of into it by the time the guy pulls away and wanders off.

Dougie's eyes are wide and he's drawn a hand up to run through his messed up hair when their eyes meet. TJ takes a few steps to speak low in Dougie's ear. He says, "I think we might want to talk about your latent bisexual tendencies, Little Brother"

Dougie grins then rolls his eyes, wrapping his open palm around the back of TJ's neck and patting his cheek. "I can't believe we haven't already talked about yours," he answers. At TJ's confused look, Dougie only responds, "'Boobs are awesome?'"

"They fucking are!" TJ cries.

Dougie leans forward for emphasis. "I _know_ , TJ."

"Yeah, well, you can't tell me _that_ wasn't awesome, either," TJ pouts playfully.

"I'm starving," Dougie says suddenly. "Let's go get a hot dog or something."

He doesn't respond when TJ cackles at him. Overall, it's a super amazing Pride.

Hours later, when they get home, where Dougie crashes on the couch and TJ just makes it upstairs to his bed, he texts Tim, _thank you baby_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this took so long! I got kind of blocked. Hopefully the next one goes faster. Please keep your wonderful comments coming! <3


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everyone is in Indiana! Sounds exciting, right?

"Oh my God, no, TJ, you're not going to buy me a tux. I'm just going to rent one and you can't pay for that either. I already called the place, I just have to go pick it up."

TJ clenches his jaw. Damn, the boy can be stubborn. He kicks his boots out childishly and props his elbows up on the table in front of him where Nana has laid out a game of solitaire. To their right clouds speed by and all around them in the low humming sound of being in the air.

TJ's always loved traveling on Air Force One.

He takes a breath and tries again with Tim. "I just think it's only fair--"

"Next you'll want to pay for my gas," Tim continues, speaking over him. "It's not like I don't have money, TJ. I can make my own way."

Mama looks over at him, letting her briefing folder fall to her lap. She seems tired. He knows how much she hates campaigning. "What's the matter?" she asks quietly.

"He won't let us pay for the tux," TJ replies placing his hand over the receiver.

Mama frowns, exasperated, and holds out her hand for the phone.

"And anyway, it's not like I spend my money on fucking anything except books and--"

"Hold on, babe," TJ says, "someone wants to talk to you." Grinning, he puts the phone on speaker and hands it over to her.

"Deputy Tim, this is the President," she says clearly, giving TJ a wink. 

"Oh, sh--Ma'am," he stumbles, but recovers. "Uh, hello." Timmy is so cute when he's thrown off balance. And definitely way less stubborn. TJ thinks his mother could talk Tim into anything. Though it's probably a trick he shouldn't use very often.

"I'm so glad we'll be seeing you in Indiana," Mama says. "And I don't want you to put yourself out in any way for the function tomorrow. TJ's going to ask Johanna to make an appointment at a shop in Evansville and whatever you get will be a personal gift from me, all right?"

There's a long pause, but eventually Tim says, "Yes, ma'am."

"Wonderful," she replies and hands the phone back to TJ.

"That was low," Tim says, just before TJ takes the phone off speaker. Mama's laughing into her hand and Nana's smiling down at her cards like they're the ones that did something funny.

"I can't wait to see you, baby," TJ tells him. "I'll text you where to meet us, okay?"

Tim huffs. "Fine."

 

TJ makes it up to Tim for his dirty trick in the dressing room of the men's clothing store they go to mere hours before the event. Tim knows it's going to cost extra to get the alterations done for a suit like that in time, but no one except him seems to be concerned.

He does stop worrying so hard about it when TJ's lips close around his cock while Johanna goes to sort out the bill. TJ's mouth is warm and his hair is soft and, Jesus Christ, Tim's missed him.

He comes fast and when TJ pulls off, he looks up and smiles so sweetly at Tim he has to sit down. He settles on the floor next to TJ and leans over to take his face in his hands. He kisses him, tasting his own come on his boyfriend's lips.

"I missed you," he says and TJ groans a little and pulls him close.

"Okay, put your clothes on, if we head back to the hotel we'll have enough time for me to do that again," TJ replies.

Tim's head spins. He's still coming down. "What? Why?"

"Because you're _magic_ ," TJ says. "And I missed you too, dummy."

 

TJ can't get enough of Tim, he seriously can't. He tries to go for the blow job again, but Tim pulls him back up on the bed.

"Slow down, kid," Tim says, smiling. "You do that again so soon I'll probably pass out."

TJ's eyes dance across Tim's gorgeous face. His brow, usually furrowed in concentration at whatever task or conversation, is smooth. His eyes are wide and open, his lips slightly parted, like he's thirsty.

TJ kisses him and breathes the air from his lungs when he touches TJ's cock. "Let me make you feel good first."

"But _I'm_ not the one whose magic," TJ protests.

Tim smiles into his skin. "Sweetheart, I don't know what the hell you're talking about, but who says?"

"You're so good," TJ whispers. "You're too good for me."

"Don't say that," Tim replies with some emphasis, maybe an edge to his tone, but TJ's not paying attention because Tim's fingers are quick on him and he's coming and coming.

He does move down the bed then, trailing his lips across Tim's perfect chest and stomach, laving him up then swallowing him down. Tim groans loudly, breathing, "Oh shit, TJ," and moaning.

TJ lifts his other hand and shoves his fingers, the two of them, into Tim's mouth. It's not like he doesn't want to hear Tim say his name, it's just that Tim seems to love it so much. He comes almost immediately.

"Can we," he asks breathlessly, as they pull apart and come together again, laying next to each other sideways on the bed, "go a little slower next time?"

TJ smiles goofily, reaching out to run his fingers through Tim's hair. "Sure," he enthuses, feeling pretty agreeable. "I just want you so bad, baby."

Tim rolls his eyes, but kisses TJ again. 

TJ's fingers dance lazily across his temple and cheek. He says the words without thinking, "I love you."

Tim stills. He doesn't pull away, but he blinks, almost owlishly at TJ then frowns as though he's not sure he heard him right. He opens his mouth but doesn't speak.

"Don't," TJ says. "Don't feel like you--"

"No," Tim says and his smile is that slow promise TJ still jacks off to from the first night. "Shut up. I love you too."

They doze for a few minutes, just basking in it, until Tim rolls away saying, “We should get ready.” He’s strangely quiet for the rest of the evening. His smile is soft and real, but it tightens at the end. TJ sees it, but is too afraid to say anything.

 

The fundraiser TJ's dragged Tim to is in a hotel ballroom in Evansville, Indiana. It sounds dinky, but it cleans up nice, especially for $1,000 a plate. There's blue and white balloons in big arches around the doors and streamers and shit everywhere. 

The food is good, but the company is a little dire, mostly made up of old die-hards and 40-ish men with slight paunches, hair slicked back like it's still 1990, and painfully thin, tan women on their arms. No big hair, sadly. TJ thinks he and Tim would have had more fun with that.

As it is, they sit at the round dining tables, along with Nana, Anne, and Dougie--Mama is sitting with the hosts at a high table on a platform, like it's a wedding or something--and get tipsy on a variety of wines that are all a little too sweet. 

The hosts are the retired founders of a drug company that merged with another drug company a few years back and made them all doubly rich. These men's children are now high ups in the company and one of them went to Harvard Law with TJ's father. Their grandchildren came to the Hammond Farm in the summers for a week at a time when he and Dougie were boys and TJ hates them.

They aren't twin boys, but they're close enough in age to be bizarro world doubles of TJ and Dougie, if their parents had gone into business instead of politics. Their names are Eric and Derek Young--Tim laughed a lot when TJ told him that--and they're the kind of nightmare alpha male jocks who grew up into successful men with beautiful wives who don't have any empathy for people who didn't or couldn't get the same.

They also used to call TJ a fag, relentlessly and unapologetically, from about the time TJ and Dougie were eleven to when TJ came out.

After that, they never spoke to him again--unless it was at one of these campaign things, or borderline politely at a family function. So, TJ really hates them.

But TJ sips their gross wine and smiles at his gorgeous boyfriend, and totally doesn't give a shit anymore. He still feels bad for Dougie, though, who has to deal with them as donors and occasional networking contacts or whatever the hell CEOs of large corporations might do for The White House, or vice versa. Mama says she hates lobbying and money in politics, but it never stops her from taking these people's donations. Everyone knows they come with a price tag.

TJ could never stomach it.

He takes a break from his musing to look over at Tim again. He's still being quiet.

TJ takes his hand, laying his palm over Tim's fingers and curling his own underneath. "Everything okay?" He asks.

Tim smiles immediately, like he'd been caught out at not having the greatest time ever. "Sure," he replies.

TJ gives him a smirk. Everything is fine until it's not. "Collar too tight?"

Tim snorts. "It's _fine_." But he tugs at it anyway.

"You look amazing," TJ tells him, for the 80th time. "Nana, tell him he looks amazing."

"Like Gary Cooper," she says assuredly. 

" _Super duper_ ," returns everyone at the table with varying degrees of enthusiasm. 

Nana used to make TJ play "Puttin' on the Ritz" over and over when he was taking piano lessons from her as a little boy. She still asks him to play it on occasion.

When he gives Tim an inquiring look, his boy shrugs and says, "I just like _Young Frankenstein_."

Anne laughs into her wine glass and says, "Me too!" She turns around in her chair and tugs on Dougie's hand. "When's the dancing going to be? Please don't tell me the speeches are first."

TJ groans. "Aren't they always?"

The speeches go on forever. TJ almost loudly coughs a derogatory term in the middle of Eric's, but Dougie gives him a look that spells murder before he can. He settles for whispering it in Tim's ear. Tim only looks confused because TJ didn't have time to let him in on what an asshole the guy is. TJ then settles for doing something super gay in the middle of Eric the asshole's speech and kisses his boyfriend on the cheek. Tim still looks confused.

Mama does a little bit of her stump speech, but even she looks bored and Dougie throws her the "wrap it up" signal a little earlier than usual. TJ does love watching her. She's so graceful about public speaking, so light on her feet, but powerful too, authentic.

She steps of the platform and walks right to her family.

TJ and Tim had a bit of a rush getting ready, as the new tux came only just in time and they'd been sleeping until Johanna came in with it anyway. So, they hadn't been able to say hello to Mama at all yet. Well, TJ had come in on Air Force One with her, but he hadn't seen her since Tim arrived.

"You boys all look so nice," she says beaming. "You too Anne," she adds and Nana huffs dramatically. Mama steps between TJ and Tim to put her arms around Tim, who looks petrified as he hesitantly returns the embrace. "It's so good to see you, Timmy," she says.

TJ thinks a grin might permanently be stuck on his face. Tim seems a little shell-shocked, as he did that first night at the White House, so TJ squeezes his hand pretty hard as he kisses his mother's cheek. 

He thinks it's hilarious and sort of surreal Mama has fallen into this habit of never calling Tim by simply his name. She either goes with the diminutive Timmy, like she still sometimes calls TJ Tommy, or adds his title, calling him Deputy Tim like they're in the Old West or Mayberry or something.

Tim hasn't seemed to have noticed yet, or if he has he hasn't mentioned it. TJ's not about to point it out.

The band has struck up again, louder now than it was during dinner. It's a big band style ensemble who seem pretty excited to have been booked. TJ wants to drag Tim onto the dance floor immediately, but he sees the looming forms of Eric and Derek on their way over to the Barrish-Hammond clan. 

"Ugh," TJ says, and wants to respond to Tim's questioning gaze, but doesn't have enough time before he's forced to take Eric's outstretched hand.

"Tom," Eric says, like he doesn't know what TJ prefers to be called, "It's been too long."

“Eric,” TJ says, straining for a smile, and adds, inanely, not wanting to agree with him, “A really long time.” Tim is standing close to him, looking mildly concerned, yet curious, with half a smile on his face. “This is my boyfriend, Tim.” As TJ turns to Tim, he tries to convey how uncomfortable he is with his eyes alone. He’s not sure he’s successful, but he’s pretty sure Eric is going to say something offensive any second regardless. “Tim, this is Eric Young. He just gave a speech.”

“I hope it was a good one,” Eric says, all smiles, though his eyes look a little panicked as he and Tim clasp hands. 

Tim only replies, “Nice to meet you.”

Eric suddenly smirks, “Tim and Tom, huh? That’s a laugh.”

Tim’s not really smiling anymore. “He goes by TJ. It’s not that funny.”

“Oh, I thought that was just a tabloid thing,” the asshole shrugs it right off. TJ has memories of this douche and his fucking brother calling him _BJ_ over and over again until he ran into the woods behind the house.

“Yeah, it’s just my name,” TJ says. He thought Eric might have moved on to Dougie already, but it looks like he’s talking with one of the older Youngs and Mama a few feet away.

Eric’s looking at Tim like he needs to figure out something to say before shit gets too awkward--like it hasn’t already. He says, “So, lemme guess...interior designer?”

“Uh…” Tim answers, clearly lost for a moment, wondering if this guy is just throwing out random occupations or maybe Tim has one on speed dial, but no. TJ knows, he’s just thrown an outlandish stereotype into the ring. Tim blinks, realizes Eric is waiting for confirmation and says, “No. I mean, that’s not my profession.” He doesn’t say anything else, just grabs at TJ’s hand and looks towards the dance floor.

Eric laughs, almost for no reason, and says, “What? You looking for the Secret Service over there? Don’t even worry, kid, the company’s got a private security firm on this entire place. Ain’t no terrorists coming for your boyfriend tonight.”

Tim turns back and looks at Eric cooly. He nods in the direction of a backstage door, behind Eric and says, “What about that security professional over there talking to the leggy blonde? Is he stopping the terrorists?”

Eric cranes his neck as his face goes ashen momentarily, then red. TJ knows it’s his wife. He was forced to attend the man’s wedding and was just sober enough, long enough, to remember her infuriatingly gorgeous face. He thinks she used to be a Colts cheerleader.

“You checking out all the guys in the room?” Eric asks in an icy tone. He gets mean when things don’t go his way, vicious. TJ remembers that too.

“No, sir,” Tim says, calm as you please. “Just looking out for the exits. They trained us all to do that in the Army Rangers.”

Eric’s eyes bug out.

“And in U.S. Marshal training.”

TJ knows he’s beaming.

And then Mama comes over. “Oh, Eric, I see you’ve met Deputy Tim already. We’re all so excited he could take the weekend off and come see us. I forgot to thank your wife for finding us the extra place at the family’s table.”

Eric stares at her for a split second too long. “I’m sure it was nothing, Madame President,” he says.

“Boys, why on earth aren’t you dancing yet?” Mama asks, like they must have hit their heads or something.

“Oh my God, you’re amazing,” TJ enthuses as they walk onto the dance floor.

Tim’s smile is tight. “Oh, I don’t know about that,” he says.

“What? Why the fuck not?”

TJ’s taking his hands, automatically moving into a position. Tim grimaces. “Sweetheart, I really don’t know how to dance.”

“Don’t worry,” TJ smiles, pulling him close, sliding a hand onto his waist. “I’ll lead.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OMG SO LONG WITHOUT A POST. Sorry everyone. I went out of town for a wedding then had to get over a block AND work A LOT this week to make up for my lost vacation/Memorial day hours. Anywho. Here is some fic for you.
> 
> I hope I haven't lost all my loyal readers. Some comments would be lovely.
> 
> You can also find me as norgbelulah on tumblr.


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the party goes on and things get a little rocky.

"You're a good dancer," Tim says softly about three songs into the evening.

There's a tacky disco ball over their heads and the tiny big band is playing "Fly Me to the Moon" on a slower tempo than you usually hear Old Blue Eyes sing it.

"I've had enough practice," TJ replies, pulling Tim closer.

They got a few looks when they first hit the floor, but this crowd knows TJ and none of those looks were very surprised. They've just never seen him bring a date to one of these things before.

TJ draws his lips near to Tim's ear. "Don't worry, babe. So will you. If I have anything to say about it."

He wants to say he loves him, he wants to tell Tim that again, but he's still worried about the tightness in Tim's smile. He knows things are moving faster than Tim thought they would. He's not going to push again.

Suddenly, Tim pulls away and when TJ meets his eyes he knows Tim knows TJ knows something is wrong. It's a vicious circle of them knowing and shoes dropping and, oh God, Tim's going to break up with him.

He should never have said that stupid thing.

Tim takes his hand in minutely shaking fingers and pulls him off the dance floor. TJ vaguely registers Dougie turning Anne around to look at them as they walk away, concern writ large in his expression. He wonders where Mama is and for a desperate moment he wishes she'd come over and distract Tim, smile at him and ask for a dance or something so this doesn't have to happen right now.

"I have to tell you something important," Tim says hollowly.

TJ's heart is beating too fast. "Really? Can't we--"

"Yes," Tim says with a hard edge to his voice. He's not looking TJ in the eye.

They make it back to the family's table and Tim lifts his glass, half full of warm white wine, and downs it in two large gulps. He finally meets TJ's eyes then, and his own widen at whatever petrified expression is etched across his face.

"TJ, I..." he hesitates.

"Let's go outside," TJ cries, sounding too desperate. "I want a smoke." The only thing he wants more than a cigarette is the last five minutes to not have happened, or to ever happen, ever. He thinks he's going to puke.

"Okay," Tim says, without any of his usual grimace that TJ hasn't quit yet. 

TJ doesn't think he's ever going to quit, but Tim can hold out hope. Well, maybe not after they break up. He pulls a crumpled pack from his pants pocket and they walk side by side to the outer french doors which open to a reasonably-sized brick patio.

It's a nice night and, strangely, no one else is out there. TJ is thankful for that.

The wind is blowing and his fingers are still shaking so Tim has to strike the lighter for him, he pulls the smoke into his lungs deeply, but it's not a relief. When he blows it back out he has to silently choke back a sob.

"It's not..." Tim hesitates again. "Please don't think--" he breaks off and says instead, "Give me that." He plucks the cig from TJ's fingers as he was raising it again to his lips. He takes two quick puff, hacks a coughs, then takes another longer one.

TJ stares at him as he hands it back.

Tim meets his eyes. "I used to sometimes in the Army," he says. "Only when I was really drunk. Mostly on leave in Germany."

Fuck. TJ doesn't know how people can do that and not get addicted. Really, TJ doesn't know how you can love anything and not get addicted to it.

Maybe Tim didn't love smoking. Maybe Tim doesn't really love TJ.

Maybe he just said that in the moment and now he wants to take it back.

He waits, letting the cig burn between his fingers. 

"You've been so open with me," Tim says quietly. "About everything that's going on with you...and I know it's hard, being on the road, being far apart. It can't be easy to be so honest...with me. It _isn't_ easy."

TJ turns away, jamming his knuckles into the space between his eyebrows, screwing his eyes shut against this upheaval, this rising of sadness and loss, drawing up and back like a tide ready to roll in.

"Shit," he says, unable to hold it back. " _Shit_."

"TJ..." Tim sounds confused now, but he forges on. "I haven't been honest with you like you have with me--"

TJ whirls on him, "Oh my God, there's not someone else, is there?"

" _What?_ "

"So, you love me, but we have to break up because there's someone else?" He shakes his head, pushing forward to grasp at Tim's arms, clutching them desperately. "Timmy, do you really think I _care_? You can have whoever else you want, just please, _please_ don't leave me."

Tim's looking at him like he's lost his mind. Maybe he has. Is that a reasonable thing to say? Should he be upset rather than relieved? He doesn't give a shit.

"TJ, shut up," Tim says, that hard thing in his voice again. It goes soft again immediately, like Tim's reigning it back. "There's isn't any one else. I don't want to break up. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. This is stupid, I--"

"Jesus. What then?" 

TJ flings the burned out cherry onto the ground. He thinks he got ash on Tim's new jacket. He's shaking in earnest now and he can't tell if it's relief, two times over, or anger.

"My mother called me. Weeks ago. As soon as we were in the papers. She knows and she's...I don't know what she is but I'm fucked up about it. And---And I didn't tell you. I'm fucked up about that too."

TJ stares at him, chest heaving, and Tim stares back.

"I completely fucked this up too," Tim says. "I am so so sorry."

And that's when TJ snaps. "Fucking right, you did," he yells, pushing hard at Tim's chest, forcing him to take a step back. TJ advances, pushing him again. "Jesus motherfucking Christ, Tim! Is that what got your fucking tongue all night long? Holy--I can't--I don't fucking tell you _everything_ either, asshole. Especially not all my deep, dark shit, like how fucking terrified I apparently am of you leaving me!"

Tim doesn't say anything. He stands there and he takes it, looking increasingly guilty and miserable.

They both turn when the doors open quietly and Anne emerges looking uncertain. She glances between them and says, "Douglas is distracting your mother, TJ. Please stop hitting him, okay?"

All the strength goes out of TJ's arms and he takes a hasty step back. 

Anne's expression is far too understanding as she says, "I know--Douglas does too--that long distance is hard. The campaign is worse. You never got into the middle of our shit." She smiles, remembering, and adds, "except that one time, when it really counted. But I don't think you're there yet, so," she holds up her hands then pushes them down in a 'cool it' motion. "Okay?"

TJ nods. She steps back into the party.

TJ lights a cigarette and wordlessly passes it to Tim. He lights another for himself and they smoke together. They don't look at each other.

"I already told you my last relationship was secret and didn't amount to much," TJ says quietly after a few drags. "And I know, baby, I _know_ you're new at this. I was angry, maybe I still am a little, but I don't ever want you to do things or tell me things that don't feel right, because you think that's what you should be doing."

He looks up at Tim now, who's watching him, something unfathomable in his eyes. "That's bullshit. Don't do it."

"I wanted to, but I..." Tim shakes his head.

"It doesn't matter, Timmy. I swear. If you tell me shit the day it happens, a month, a year, I don't care. You don't need to make yourself do anything for me. I'll love you anyway."

Tim stares at TJ and the look in his eyes is raw now, wounded. “I’m not that new at it,” he says.

“What?” 

“I’m not as new at this as you think I am.” Tim rubs at his eyes quickly with the hand holding his cig. “I had...I had someone in the army. Secret too, like you and Sean. His name was Deckard...Will, I mean. I never fucking called him that. He’s...uh, he’s dead now.”

“Oh,” TJ says and doesn’t realize for a moment it’s him that spoke, he’s reeling so hard. 

And Tim, Tim does the strangest thing. He steps forward, drawing his hand up TJ’s arm, and presses his lips to TJ’s forehead. “Fuck the party,” he murmurs. “Let’s go upstairs. I want to hold you.”

TJ closes his eyes. “Yeah,” he breathes out.

 

Tim’s heart doesn’t really stop pounding until after he and TJ are back in their room, jackets off, and sitting on the bed. 

TJ’s mostly in his lap and their faces are pressed against each others shoulders, arms wrapped tight. “I didn’t mean for--”

Tim begins to mumble, but TJ shushes him. “I know, baby,” he sighs. He leans back and smiles ruefully. “Everything is easy until it isn’t, huh?” He runs his hands through Tim’s hair. He seems to like that so much. 

Tim lets his head fall heavier. “I really do love you,” he says.

TJ makes a strange noise between a laugh and a sob, but it still sounds more happy than sad. “I’m so glad, baby.”

Tim kisses him then and they take it slow.

“Slow, like you wanted,” TJ says languorously with a wide smile.

It’s still early yet. Anne and Douglas made their excuses as they passed through the party, hand in hand, crossing from one exit to the next, so they won’t be missed.

They take their time. And they don’t say much.

But Tim comes with a shout while TJ’s still inside him and they cling to each other and say “I’m sorry,” and “shut the fuck up,” in breathy whispers to each other’s skin.

When they’re finished, they break open a tiny bottle of bourbon from the mini bar and drink it in the shower while they clean off together. They throw long looks at each other and wide, tired smiles. Eventually, TJ shakes his head and says, “We probably made that a lot harder than it needed to be, huh?”

Tim grimaces. “You mean I did.”

He’s not entirely sure what he’d been thinking, making it seem like such a big deal, clearly freaking TJ out the entire time. He just felt so awful, being trapped into that silence, not wanting, but being unable to let it go. He was still so used to keeping things hidden, to not giving them voice, he had to force himself to do it, even when he desperately wanted to.

TJ snorts, rolling his eyes. “Like I totally kept my head. Babe, come on.” He leans in and kisses Tim softly. He presses his palms flat against Tim’s chest where he’d hit him. “I didn’t hurt you, did I?”

Tim lets his lips twist into a smirk, even as TJ’s still kissing them. “Well, I might be a little bruised tomorrow,” he says, then lays it on thicker, “You’re so _strong_.”

TJ laughs. “Oh my god, you’re the worst,” he says, but from the look in his eyes, Tim knows he doesn’t mean it.

 

Breakfast is a continental affair that starts at 8:00 am the next morning. 

TJ, never a morning person, elects to stay in bed, groaning to Tim, “Bring me back a muffin.”

Tim, who really needs a cup of coffee if he’s going to hit the road at a reasonable time, pulls on his khakis and a slim henley shit, pauses, considering, then pulls his sidearm out from his bag. He hadn’t worn it the previous night, because that would have been kind of crazy. But he finds that if he wears it and his badge around the campaign and looks like he knows where he’s going, no one wonders who he is or what he’s doing there.

Before he turns towards the door, he notices TJ watching him, an appreciative smile on his face.

“You’re such a badass,” he says, smiling sleepily.

“Fuck off,” Tim replies playfully.

“Muffin!” TJ shouts as Tim pulls the door shut.

Downstairs in the Breakfast Room, Tim runs into Dougie.

“Hey,” he says, feeling immediately awkward. “Sorry...about bailing so early last night.”

Douglas smiles at him, pulling enough food for two onto his plate from the buffet. “Not a problem,” he says. “Really, we only ask that TJ come to these kinds of things anymore for the old family friends. The ones with a history--and yeah, before you ask, I do know what those dicks said to him when we were younger. If you hadn’t been here, he probably would have just gotten way too drunk out of boredom and Nana would have put him to bed at the same time anyway.”

Tim frowns. He sometimes forgets how flippant this family can be about borderline alcoholism.

Dougie continues on blithely, “I’m just glad Mom didn’t see anything. She always gets so worked up when people are fighting, unless it’s her and Dad, of course.” He sounds so much like a petulant teenager then and not, like the President’s Chief of Staff, Tim has to do a double take.

He shakes it off almost immediately though, and gives Tim a concerned, brotherly look, “Everything’s okay, right?”

Tim swallows. He’s so glad that it is. “Yeah,” he says. “Just… a misunderstanding.”

“God knows those can happen in this kind of life,” Douglas says, letting out a breath. “It’s good to hear that, Tim. Everybody really likes you.”

Tim doesn’t really know what to say to that, so he says nothing. Dougie’s piling his plate kind of crazy high with three waffles and fruit and sausage on the side. Tim looks down at it and says, “I guess you’re pretty hungry.”

Dougie laughs. “No, no. Anne and I don’t get a ton of time alone together during campaign seasons, so I always bring breakfast up to her.”

Tim looks around. “Are you allowed to do that? Like with the plates and stuff?” Tim is pretty sure that’s not how continental breakfast works.

Dougie shrugs. He says, with a wicked smile, “Like they’re gonna kick us out.”

It’s the most TJ-like thing Tim’s ever heard Dougie say. He’s not sure what his face looks like as Dougie winks at him and walks off with his giant plate. Tim shrugs too and snags TJ’s muffin, taking a couple extra pieces of sausage.

The President winks at him as he passes her on his way back up the stairs.

 

TJ isn’t actually sleeping when Tim comes back, he’s just laying in the bed, tangled up in the pristine white hotel sheets, and idly palming his cock.

He looks like sex personified.

He smiles, looking upside down at Tim as he enters. “Was just thinking about you,” he says, grinning lasciviously. “Didn’t think you’d be back so soon.”

“Your brother trained me in the art of breakfast theft,” Tim says, eyes stuck on TJ’s slowly moving hand. “I brought you a muffin.”

TJ closes his eyes. “I can think of a few other things, I’d rather have first.”

“Ungrateful,” Tim mutters, leaning down to kiss his neck.

He doesn’t say he has to go soon. TJ knows. They make the best of the time they have.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> New chapter so soon! Sorry if I gave any of you heart attacks. These boys will be fine!
> 
> Keep your wonderful comments coming! I'll be replying to the last ones today. :D
> 
> Thanks so much for your continued support of this dumb fic. :P


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the campaign comes to Lexington, as well as an unexpected guest.

Tim doesn’t see TJ for a month after Indiana.

They text all the time and spend hours on the phone. TJ finally gets through _The Belgariad_ decides to take a break before starting on _The Mallorean_. Tim doesn’t believe him when he asks for more book recommendations.

“I want to know what you liked when you were younger,” he says one night when both of them were staring at lonely white ceilings. “I want to know where you escaped to.”

When Tim asks him why, he answers, “I want to know where I could have gone instead of drowning it out.”

Tim tells him to read _The Hitchhiker’s Guide to the Galaxy_. 

Luckily, he hasn’t already seen the movie.

He drives to Tennessee for another expensive plate dinner. He and TJ don’t have a fight, but the weekend is cut short because Art needs him back for a case that goes sideways on Saturday night. They have a manhunt on their hands, but Tim is in a prime position to intercept the fugitive on his way south.

“God, you’re amazing,” TJ breathes as Tim whips on his sidearm holster around his dress pants after stripping off his jacket. After he checks the mag, Tim looks over at him and smiles. “At least you’re not pissed,” he says.

TJ smiles and Tim knows he’s really really lucky.

 

Tim takes off work the weekend the campaign is in Lexington. TJ is so excited.

_OMG Timmy we get to sleep in YOUR BED_ he texts enthusiastically. _YOUR BED_

_Better change the sheets._ Tim replies, like he’s not just as excited.

_iluuuuu_

_You dummy. <3_

When he gets in the night before Mama’s big speech at UK, TJ goes right to Tim’s house where Tim _cooks him dinner_ and they have spectacular sex in Tim’s bed.

“It’s not as big as I imagined it,” he says after, adding a frown into their mix of glowing smiles and wandering hands.

“Not everybody was gifted a furnished room in a town home at the tender age of 30, sweetheart,” Tim says dryly.

“Oh really?” TJ drawls. He gives Tim a mock vacant-look. “I guess this is how the other half lives, huh?”

Tim kisses him. “You’re the worst.”

 

TJ kind of loves Tim’s apartment.

It’s spare in the way Tim seems to be with so many other things in his life, except for his bookshelf. Tim’s bookshelf is big, taking up almost an entire wall. It’s full of dog-eared paperbacks and scuffed-jacketed hardbacks with big, red-lettered titles in scrolling scripts and angry-looking sorcerers and shit all over them.

They spent a good hour after dinner the previous night looking through it. TJ asked him what they were about and Tim rolled his eyes and said things like, “Oh, kind of like the other one except the main character is less of an asshole,” or “there’s a girl instead,” or “it’s in a city not a desert.”

TJ also likes Tim’s apartment because, like the townhouse and, he guesses, the Residence, it’s a whole place where the Secret Service doesn’t come inside. They secure it from without and TJ doesn’t feel their silent eyes. Their scrutiny doesn’t usually bother him in public, but it’s something he gets tired of in private, especially when he’s with Tim and the only place they can get away from it is basically a bedroom.

TJ likes Tim’s kitchen. It’s small and clean, and he made TJ pasta and zucchini and was really cute when he said he didn’t think it was anything special.

“Oh my God, baby,” TJ said. “It’s the _most_ special.” He knows it’s ridiculous. It’s part of the fun when he gets to be with Tim.

Tim rolled his eyes and muttered, “Shut up.” But he was holding back a huge, dopey grin.

Now, TJ is lounging on Tim’s couch, giggling about Ford Prefect and the guy with three heads while Tim--who told TJ he was absolutely not allowed to help--makes breakfast. The eggs smell amazing, and TJ’s about to yell something to Tim about how intensely hungry he is, just to be annoying, when he hears a knock on the door.

TJ sits up, staring at the door, as Tim leaves the kitchen, wiping his hands on a towel. Neither of them are wearing a shirt.

“Would Carter knock?” Tim asks him. “I can’t believe they wouldn’t...intercept a...I dunno, Jehovah’s witness?”

TJ frowns. “You’re not expecting anybody?”

Tim shakes his head. “If it was Art, he’d’ve called me first. Anybody else at the office too.”

“Huh,” TJ says.

The knock comes again. Louder.

"Well, that's Carter's knock," TJ says, absolutely certain. He stands. "Do you want me to...?"

Tim shakes his head and walks to the door. Before he opens it, he turns and asks, "He wouldn't let any press through would he?"

TJ snorts. "Carter? No way."

Tim opens the door and TJ can't see who's on the other side, but he does see the color drain from Tim's face, rapidly, like someone just punched him in the gut. TJ freezes. A woman says, "Timothy," in a clipped, almost impatient tone. "I had no idea you'd be under some kind of permanent protection."

Tim blinks and says, his voice stilted, wooden, "I'm not." He glances to whom TJ assumes is Carter and nods, then steps aside, with a pained, unhappy frown, to let a slim woman with a strikingly similarly pained expression cross the threshold.

Her bright blue eyes rest on TJ, take in his state of undress, then meet his eyes unflinchingly. "Oh," she says. "I didn't expect..." She doesn't look as flustered as her words. She's holding herself extremely still and straight. She looks almost brittle. Her eyes and mouth are just like Tim's. "I'm his mother," she says.

"Oh," TJ echoes. 

He stares at her, at her shoulder-length blonde hair, dyed a little lighter than he thinks her roots would be, cut in a sensible, very mom-like style. And he stares at her pale pink blouse over a darker pink pencil skirt, like she put on a candied interview suit to come see her son.

She’s about 60 maybe, older than TJ thought she would be, but she doesn’t have any white hair. Her face looks like a feminized version of Tim's. Maybe he has a slightly different nose, but it's not a big difference. He sees Tim in the purse of her lips, in the way he can tell she's trying to hide her annoyance.

Well, fuck that. She wasn't invited here. TJ knows she wasn't. And he was.

He was going to say hi, he was going to play nice. Fuck it. He says nothing.

"Mom," Tim takes her attention away from him. He looks tired already. TJ wants to go to him. "Why are you here? Why didn't you call?"

She raises her brows. "You would have told me not to."

"What about the first question?"

She tilts her head at Tim, clearly indicating he knows the answer to that. 

Tim grinds his teeth together, jutting his jaw fiercely. "I'm not doing this with you. Not on the phone. Not in person. Especially not this weekend."

"I'm sorry if I came at a bad time, Timothy," TJ cringes at the way she doesn’t sound sorry at all, and at the way she says his full name. He can tell Tim _hates_ it, like more than he hates anything TJ's ever seen. He visibly shrinks from it. "But I'm sure… Mr. Hammond can find some way to occupy himself while you and I--"

"It's not just me," TJ puts in, feeling a wickedly feral smile grow in his expression. 

She glances over at him, then back to Tim, "I don't--"

Tim sighs, "He's right, mother. I suppose you're not paying real close attention to the campaign. TJ's here in Lexington with his family. He's here to support the President. He's got obligations this weekend. And so do I."

She's looking at him like he's not even speaking English, like he's spouting off some demonic tongue she could never hope to decipher. "What do you mean?"

Suddenly, TJ's phone rings. It vibrates loudly on the coffee table. He goes over and picks it up. It's Dougie.

"Hey," he says and know he sounds bad.

"Hey. Everything okay?"

TJ winces. "Um, Tim's mom dropped by...um..." There's noise in the background. Too much noise. Shit. "Am I on speaker?"

"Yes, darling," TJ's mother says, brightly enough she must have missed the undercurrent of anxiety in his voice. 

He hears Dougie say what TJ said, "Tim's mom is in town too."

Oh, telephone. What a shitty game.

"That's wonderful, have her come around to the pavilion with you boys. We're going straight to a barbecue at the alumni building afterwards. We can all have lunch together."

Oh God. "Hold on," he says and is careful to put his hand over the receiver. He tells Tim, "She wants her to come."

Tim's eyes do a weird thing where they widen while his pupils contract, making him look terrified and lost and almost fucking crazy. TJ doesn't know what to do. "I can tell her--"

" _No_ ," Tim's voice is now cold and clipped as his mother's. He turns to her. "Well," he says bitterly. "I can't really think of anything you'd hate more than that."

She looks like she has absolutely no idea what she's just walked into, and that she's only just realized that. "I--"

"It's fine," Tim says, sounding relieved. "I'll make an excuse--”

"No," she says, suddenly and Tim blanches. 

"Mother," he tries, a warning in his tone.

She straightens up. She clears her expression, smoothing out a small frown, the wrinkles of uncertainty. "I'd love to join you," she tells them.

Tim stares at her.

"You're my son," she says, as if that will explain everything.

Tim's eyes narrow. "Why do you think you need to remind me?" he asks, before turning abruptly towards the kitchen. "The eggs are cold," he calls, TJ's not sure to who.

TJ stares at Tim's mother again and she stares back at him. But the slight curling of her lip, he can tell she's clearly perturbed by his nakedness. He doesn't speak to her again, only brings the phone back to his ear and says, "We'll see you backstage."

"Great," Dougie says, and hangs up.

TJ really, really, doesn't think it's going to be.

 

While TJ is changing and Tim is throwing the cold eggs away, Tim’s mother gets her first dig.

“Son, I know you think he’s a nice boy--”

“He is,” Tim says. He knows where she’s going with this. He should just stop her. Just tell her not to bother.

“But, you must know. He’s leading you down the wrong path. A dangerous path. Has he asked you to use drugs with him?”

Tim clangs the frying pan down on his shitty electric range. He doesn’t smile when she jumps. He lets go of the pan quickly, flexing his fingers, trying not to make fists. She was always so jumpy. He thinks there must have been a time when she wasn’t and he hates everything.

“TJ’s clean, mother,” he says and he’s surprised by how toneless his voice sounds. How dead. “He’s been clean since I’ve known him. He’s never asked me to do anything like that.”

He knows what she’s doing. Point out a problem. Lean on it. Then everything’s a problem. What Tim does, who he loves, even who he is, at his core, which he’s always known. It was only after he told that it was a problem. That it needed fixing.

“Never?” she asks like she’s going to pull the answer she wants out of him.

“I won’t repeat myself,” he sneers and slips past her out of his kitchen and into his bedroom, slamming the door.

He steps into TJ’s arms.

“I love you,” TJ whispers. “I love you so much. Did you know that?”

Tim stares at him. TJ’s mouth is drawn down in an unhappy frown and there are tears in his eyes. They said it before, but not like that. It makes a difference and TJ’s telling Tim he knows that. Just loving is fun. Loving _so much_ is feeling pain. It’s awful. 

Tim shakes his head.

“Don’t even,” TJ tells him. “Don’t do that.”

“You don’t have to be here for this. You should--”

“ _No_ ,” TJ cries. He puts his hands on either side of Tim’s face. His thumb strokes Tim’s cheek. “Baby, don’t do that either,” he pleads. “I want to be here. I’m not leaving you alone with this!”

“I’m sorry,” Tim says. “I’m so sorry.”

“Tim, you didn’t do anything.”

Tim shakes his head again. He’s not sure what he’s saying no to. “This is awful. No one should have to do this--”

TJ presses their lips together. Tim can barely react. “That’s right, baby. That’s why I’m staying with you. All day. She doesn’t get to be alone with you again. No one should have to do this alone.”

 

They take a hired car. Both Tim and his mother have the exact same expression of discomfort on their faces. TJ's used to it from Tim now, but it's disconcerting to see it etched in another person's brow and mouth.

TJ doesn't usually take a limo, and he's not sure why they got one today, but he's glad he can sit next to Tim without also having to sit next to his mother. He's not so happy when, from her position opposite them, her eyes dart to where Tim's absently reached for his hand on the seat. Tim notices the scrutiny immediately and he's about to move away, but TJ grits his teeth and holds on tight.

Tim sighs quietly and TJ doesn't know if he's mad at him too or not, but he doesn't let go.

He looks right back at her and wants to bear his teeth like a wild animal. He remembers the hurt in Tim's voice when he talked about coming out and what she said to him. 

_I puked in the bathtub and pushed her away_.

He doesn’t know what she said to him when TJ was changing. Tim wouldn’t say, but he was already so upset. 

TJ wants to call her a monster. He can’t imagine what she thinks she’s doing. But he keeps his mouth shut and neither of them say anything either.

 

When they arrive at the pavilion on the side of the stadium in which Mama’s going to be speaking, Johanna’s there to tell them where to go. TJ doesn’t introduce Tim’s mother to her, he’s trying to put his game face on for his family. He’s thinking about how hard this is going to be, but he looks at Tim, who’s looking increasingly anxious, and gives him a confident, understanding smile.

He takes Johanna to the side and tells her, “That’s Tim’s mom. Things aren’t good. Under no circumstances should she be alone with either Tim or my mother, okay?”

Johanna nods, wide-eyed. “Yeah.”

“Tell Dougie for me please? Like, right now. We’ll follow you in.”

“Okay,” she says, then turns, all smiles to the Guttersons. “This way.”

She leads them through a maze of people. The marching band is waiting to enter the field. They’re performing before Mama speaks, TJ assumes. Most of the big university speeches go similarly on campaign. Mama’s always been popular with the younger generation, at least more popular than the other side.

TJ’s family is in a sequestered section of a large pavilion, basically a tent within a tent. It’s hot and everyone looks pretty out of sorts. TJ sees Johanna go up to Dougie, lay an insistent hand on his shoulder, and speak quietly to him for a few moments. Dougie and TJ share a charged look before Dougie’s attention transfers to Tim’s mother, who is looking anxious with her arms crossed protectively in front of her chest.

Then Mama’s giving him a hug. “Hello, darling,” she says. It’s a quick embrace, because she’s all super long, mama-bear hugs for Tim. She’s saying, “It’s so wonderful to see you, Timmy,” and patting his back and shoulders, and poor Tim looks like he’s about to fucking cry.

“Thank you, Ma’am,” he says in a ridiculously cute and shy way, then his eyes stray hesitantly to his own mother. She’s staring at them like someone just slapped her across the face.

Fucking right, TJ thinks.

“Madame President,” he says, to which she breaks in tapping him on the elbow with her hand carelessly, “Elaine, please. We’ve talked about that!” Tim shakes his head slightly, but he’s smiling softly now and TJ could kiss her. “This is my mother, Suzanne Gutterson.” He looks at his mother and his smile falters, but he rescues it politely and continues, “Mom, this is--”

“Elaine Barrish,” Mama, of course, interrupts and holds out her hand to Tim’s mother like she’s a regular old person--TJ can’t believe he’d forgotten to ask her first name. He’s glad Tim did the introductions himself.

He feels a presence at his side and he doesn’t have to turn to look to know it’s Dougie. TJ says quietly out of the corner of his mouth, “This is a fucking nightmare, I’m telling you, Dougie. You don’t know the shit Tim told me.”

Dougie leans in and TJ’s surprised at how welcome his brother’s hand feels on his shoulder, tightening hard, a sign of support. “Just look at her,” Dougie says in a tone that makes it clear he’s talking about Mama and not Suzanne fucking Gutterson.

Mama’s somehow pulled Tim’s mother into her orbit, touching her in a friendly way on the shoulder, exclaiming how much everyone loves Tim and how proud of him she must be, since he’s such an accomplished soldier and law enforcement officer, _and_ such a wonderful influence on TJ.

“She knows the score, TJ,” Dougie says. “You can see it in her eyes.”

TJ looks. He feels something in him ease as he realizes her eyes don’t look like they normally do when she’s smiling, they look far too fierce, calculating even.

Dougie’s voice is filled with awe and a good amount of satisfaction. “She’s gonna kill her with kindness.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wah! Cliffhanger!!!
> 
> I do promise to respond to all your lovely comments. Things have been a bit crazy for me lately! I'm just glad I could get this chapter up. :D
> 
> Keep 'em coming or send me some love at norgbelulah on tumblr. <3


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Elaine talks a lot and Tim and TJ have so many feels. Also, a special guest!

Tim can't listen to the President talk. There seems to be a din around him and he knows she's speaking, but he can't pay attention. There's a zone of quiet, like a bubble of it, surrounding him--no, he thinks, surrounding his mother.

He's unnaturally focused on her. On every shift of her body in her seat next to him in the front row of the assembled crowd on the field. On every small breath she takes that might be a sigh of annoyance or of disagreement, or disappointment. He doesn't know why he cares so much, he knows he shouldn't, but he can't stop.

Tim doesn't know if she was always like this. Gamma, strangely, used to call her a priss, used to complain how tightly buttoned up she was. "Never would go wild, never run around," she'd said. "Girls should do that. Suzie never wanted to. Maybe that's why she liked your father so much. He never wanted her to either."

Tim remembers his mother rarely speaking at home, even when his father wasn't there, except to tell Tim to do things. If he did them wrong, she'd wait, wait and sigh--not dramatically, but Tim was trained to hear her soft, impatient breaths--until it seemed like she couldn't take it anymore and would tell him, "Timothy, no, the weeds must be pulled by their roots. They'll only grow back," when he'd done the whole garden wrong. 

Or when he was real little, she'd watched him struggle with writing the letter "N" in the right direction for twenty minutes, tapping her fingers on the kitchen table while he frowned and couldn't ask her what was wrong. If he'd asked, she would have waved him off, shaking her head. He didn't know if she thought he should figure it out on his own or if she just hated speaking to him that much.

Or if his father had screamed at them both enough she couldn't bear to break a blessed silence.

It was different after the pastor got her.

That was probably a disingenuous way to think about it, but it had happened when Tim was twelve and that's what it felt like to him.

 

Tim’s father came from a house of violence. He had cigarette burns on his arms, scarred and never completely healed over. He used to point to them at Angie, Tim’s older sister, when she was being mouthy and a teenager. He used to say, “I know pain, girl. I know fucking horror you would not believe. I’m not gonna fucking hit my child.” He’d only say that to tell her he wanted to.

But he’d never made that promise to his wife. And the first time he’d hit her, a backhand to the face of which Tim hadn’t heard or understood the argument that preceded, she asked him to come visit a counselor with her. The counselor they picked was a local pastor and his father hated the sessions so much they only lasted two weeks, his mother kept on going.

Tim knew this because she said so. After the pastor got her, it seemed like she never stopped talking. She talked about the peace she found with God, the certainty of it all, she talked about people at the church, she talked to Tim about how he should come with her--he did once, but the first sermon he heard leaned hard against “difference,” which Tim correctly took to mean something having to do with him, despite the fact that he hadn’t yet realized the way he was different and how much it would be at odds with his mother and what she had taken up. 

She talked so much, and so earnestly, his father began to avoid the house. He’d go out for longer in the evenings, disappear into the TV late and night, and fuck around with projects in the backyard on weekends. Tim began to suspect her new voice was really just another way to put herself out of his reach, away from his anger, like the silence had been.

Tim’s father liked to think of himself as a man of principles. He wouldn’t hit his wife with God on her lips. He wouldn’t hit his children because he knew what it felt like. But it didn’t stop him from sneering at his wife, or screaming at her, or wanting to hit his children and letting them know, right to their faces.

He broke his promise anyway. Not to Angie. She left before she could piss him off enough to forget what he’d told her. Tim can’t remember if he’d ever made that same promise to Tim directly. He’d always been so good about keeping his mouth shut, keeping away. But Tim wasn’t good about it when it mattered and when it mattered, his father had broken his promise.

TJ brushes Tim’s shoulder, a light touch, but he startles anyway. Everyone else is beginning to stand. The speech is over and Tim’s blinking hard in the sunlight as if he just emerged from a cave.

His mother is standing too, clapping politely, glancing over at TJ’s hand on Tim’s arm, like he might be hurting him somehow. Tim’s lip wants to curl. He doesn’t remember her ever looking at him that way in his father’s house.

TJ takes his hand again and Tim lets out a breath. 

As the crowd breaks, they are led back into the pavilion along side of the stage. Tim is momentarily alone with his mother, shunted off to the side as the President and her family are glad-handed by a bunch of people in shirtsleeves or slim dresses and sensible heels. Tim sees TJ visibly craning his neck to look at Tim, like if he’s not in sight, something terrible might happen.

“I didn’t care for what she said about abortion,” his mother said in a tight, unhappy voice.

Terrible, yeah, like Tim’s mother opening her mouth.

“It’s not like she’s changed her tune in the past twenty years,” Tim grumbles. He hadn’t actually been listening, so he can’t really debate it. “Or like you can’t leave.”

She shoots him a glare. “I want to speak with you, Timothy,” she says. “You’re my--”

“Did you enjoy the speech?” Dougie asks, appearing out of nowhere. 

Tim’s not sure how he got out of the line of people the President is being forced to shake hands with. But he’s really glad he did, because Tim thinks he might have struck her if she’d tried to remind him again of how they’re related. Like he doesn’t fucking know. Like her presence isn’t a constant reminder.

Dougie’s smiling, but Tim--surprising himself that he can tell--sees that it’s strained. “Tim, I know, has heard it all before. We’re working on some new stuff to put in the stump speech, but it’s been tough with all the G8 circus coming into town next week.”

Tim shakes his head, not really sure what he’s trying to deny or discourage.

His mother looks between them both, doubtfully. “You’ve seen her speak before?”

Tim shrugs. 

Dougie answers when it’s clear Tim’s not going to say. “Tim’s been a fixture on the campaign so far. TJ travels around so much, on and off the trail. They wouldn’t get to see each other at all otherwise.”

Now she shoots an even further confused look Tim’s way. “Travels? You mean he doesn’t live with you?”

Dougie does an actual double take. “What?”

“No, mother,” Tim hisses, surprised by the icy sound of his own voice. “TJ is just here for the weekend. He travels for his work. He gives speeches to school children around the country about his _sobriety_. That’s how we met. You’d’ve known that if you bothered to read the article in the goddamned Kroger that so offended you and your--”

“How’s everything over here?” TJ calls loudly as he and his mother finally make it to them.

“I’ve been informed there is a luncheon for us in the faculty center,” the President says with a graceful, friendly smile. “And I know from prior experience, the faculty get the best treatment,” she adds with a wink. 

Tim clenches his jaw so it doesn’t drop. He’s not sure if he loves or hates her for being so welcoming. He can’t tell if she’s doing this because she knows or because she doesn’t.

“I don’t believe I remember reading you were ever a teacher,” Tim’s mother says, not like she’s missed something, but like she’s trying to catch _the President_ in some kind of lie.

“Oh no,” Elaine Barrish says, still smiling. “I just made it a point to become friends with all my professors in law school. Harvard treats theirs _very_ well, but,” she says, nodding to a suited man hovering at the edge of their conversation, “I’m sure UK’s dining will be just as stellar. You’ll ride with me, Suzanne, won’t you? We’ll have to take a car. This campus is just so expansive, Tim, have you had much of an opportunity to explore it?”

Tim says some string of words that probably could be taken to mean “no” as they move as a group towards the pavilion’s exit. TJ grabs his hand again and Tim holds the fuck on.

 

“I’m so glad we’ll have this time to chat,” TJ’s mother says, still smiling. “Just the four of us.”

Tim was not prepared to leave his mother alone with the President and TJ was apparently unwilling to let Tim let go of his hand, so they piled into the first limo all together and now Tim is staring at his mother, willing her to just be gracious, just be _normal_ and not say anything insane.

“Do you surprise Tim with a visit like this often?” Elaine--something Tim would never call her to her face--asks with a curious smile. “I remember he said he hasn’t been home in a long time.”

Tim looks at her hard then and he realizes that she knows. She knows what’s happening here. She has to. If she remembers what Tim said about Portsmouth, there’s no way she doesn’t have any idea. He’s not sure if he wants her to shut up or keep going. He thinks he lost the ability to respond to any of this rationally or actively. He feels like he’s riding a rollercoaster with his hands forcibly raised in the air. He wants off, but he can’t open his mouth to tell anyone.

“N-no,” Tim’s mother stutters an answer, he supposes to both question and statement, curt and uncertain.

Elaine smiles like she won something. “Well, it’s so lovely to have you here this weekend. What...serendipity.” She sounds completely sincere.

“It can be so difficult as a parent,” she goes on. “Knowing what to do, I mean. Our boys are lucky enough to grow up in a culture, perhaps not all that different in some places, but at least where they have recourse, options. TJ came out to us, thank God, shortly before the press got a hold of the story. To be honest--even though Bud likes to make his jokes about Dougie--we weren’t all that surprised.”

TJ is frowning at her, looking like he has absolutely no idea what she’s up to. “I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or what,” he murmurs.

“It has nothing to do with you, darling. I’m just patting myself on the back.” She smiles at Tim’s mother as they might be sharing a private joke, and says, “But of course, you have to be supportive.”

They all stare at her.

She continues on blithely, “It’s such a thorny issue, but I try to bring it out on the campaign, in little ways. Of course I find it frustrating the national dialogue is so different, so _positive_ now, but that all the change must come from the states where backwater and bigotry run riot in the congresses. So, when I come to these smaller cities in the south and the midwest where these communities do exist and thrive really, but in a less visible way that you see in places like New York and LA, I try to do what I can.”

TJ looks astounded. “What the fuck do you do, Mama?” he asks. “Why haven’t I heard about this?”

“Language, Tommy,” she says, throwing another “mom” look at Tim’s mother. “You’d know if you ever read up on any of the campaign stops at which you don’t personally have to be.”

TJ leans back in his seat and crosses his arms like a child. Tim feels his lips twitch. They still when his mother's eye catches his.

"Anyway," Elaine says, "I only brought it up because of today. Which you would know about if you'd read the itinerary--"

"You said we only had to be at the speech and the luncheon," TJ replies defensively. Everything has him wound so tight, Tim thinks he doesn't know who to lash out at anymore. She's an easier target than Tim's mother would be. "Mama, I am in town to see Tim, my _boyfriend_ \--"

"Yes, and you are also here as a representative of this family, a role you agreed to take on as a favor to me and to your brother," she cuts him off just like he had her and now there's something sharp in her gaze which she visibly softens as she adds, "Darling, I'm not saying you have to go. I know you want to spend time with Deputy Tim. I just wanted to tell Suzanne about the PFLAG meeting."

"The what?" Tim and his mother say in the same moment. He doesn't think they're asking for a same reasons.

Elaine smiles again. "Oh, you know," she says like Tim's mother absolutely _must_ and is just being silly. "PFLAG--Parents, Friends and Families of Lesbians and Gays--oh, but they do such wonderful advocacy for the transgender community as well. Bud and I have been going to meetings in DC on and off since TJ came out. I picked it up again..." she hesitates now and Tim realizes she's going to say something a lot more honest than the pleasant infodump she's been engaging in with his mother so far. She looks at TJ. "And became very involved, after his last hospitalization."

"Mama," TJ whispers and Tim takes his hand again.

"It's been a great joy to be able to tell everyone how wonderful you've been doing," she says beaming. She turns back to Tim's mother. "And there's no doubt in my mind that Timmy has so much to do with that. Everyone loves him." Her eyes catch Tim's now and the honesty of her statement, how true it is for _her_ hits him like a blow to the solar plexus. "What does mother call you?" She laughs, just a half a beat of real mirth, when she gets it. "A gem."

"Anyway," the President goes on, turning back to Tim's mother. "Would you like to join me?"

"Oh," she replies, as though she just realized Elaine was talking to and about her this entire time. She has this look on her face that Tim remembers well, like someone is waving a weapon in her face during conversation. She used to look like that when dad was screaming. She meets the President's--admittedly back-handedly shaming kindness--with the same expression of muted terror.

"That...that would be so nice," she begins and the bottom drops out of Tim's stomach. He thinks he makes a noise, but nobody reacts so maybe not. He's clutching TJ's hand _hard_. Then she continues and Tim loses all the feeling in his face. "It's just the drive home is so long and I have to be at church tomorrow morning. I don't think that I’m able, ma'am--"

"Elaine, please."

She blinks and says, "Thank you, Elaine," like the words taste bad but she doesn't want to really admit it. “But, no.”

Something's stinging Tim's eyes and he realizes his face is hot, not numb. Blessedly, the car has stopped and he pulls desperately at the door handle. Half-stumbling over his mother's feet, with TJ calling his name behind him, he lurches out into the sunlight and croaks, "I need to go to the restroom."

"Carter, where is it?" TJ's voice is hard and strangled. They're a fucking mess.

Carter says something to TJ that Tim can't hear, but he starts walking towards the building. It's a long sidewalk through some of that famous Kentucky Bluegrass that Tim walks with TJ's hand on his shoulder. "It's just inside the building."

"I need to be alone," Tim mumbles, rubbing at his face. His eyes hurt so much. He's just got to hold it back for a few more seconds.

"Tim--"

"Just," Tim rasps with increasing vehemence, "just fucking back off for a minute, TJ. Goddammit."

TJ's hand falls off his shoulder and Tim feels that like another blow. He doesn't know why he didn't want it. He looks up and sniffs, pulling it all in--he just has to wait one fucking minute. 

TJ's eyes are wide and red too. Tim's must be red, they hurt so much. "I'll...I'll stay out here and smoke," he says.

Tim nods and turns away.

"I'll be right here."

"Fuck," Tim mutters. "Fuck it. _Fuck_." He's saying it through his tears, letting it break through his quiet sobs.

He never thought she'd say yes. He never thought she'd want to--not until that moment, when she might have said yes to the goddamn President of the United States' invitation. He never thought about how much he really wanted that.

Goddammit, they are a fucking mess.

 

TJ's hands are shaking as he lights his cigarette. He slips his free hand into his dress pants' pocket, only to pull it right back out and rub at his forehead with his nervous fingers.

"God," he breathes. Oh, God.

He can't be mad at his mother. What else was she going to do? Slam the door in Suzanne Gutterson's face? Be fucking _nice_ to her?

He can't be mad at Tim. God knows, he can't. Not for being a dick after that display in the car.

He's not even sure if he can really be mad at Suzanne fucking Gutterson. He doesn't know if she knows what she's doing to her son. She can't, can she? TJ doesn't think he can, or maybe just that he should, be mad. 

But he wants to be. He's so mad. So mad, he's shaking.

"Fuck everything," he says to the sky, his eyes squeezed shut. He breathes in the smoke.

"You okay, kid?" he hears a familiar voice ask.

TJ opens his eyes and it takes him a moment. Hilariously, a cowboy hat and boots aren't all that rare in the places he's been visiting lately. But he gives Raylan Givens, Tim's fellow Marshal, a half a smile when he realizes it's him standing about three feet in front of him.

TJ side-eyes Carter, who doesn't seem concerned. The man must have recognized Raylan and let him pass through the tumult of the campaign marching two by two into the building for lunch, and let him approach TJ. Maybe Carter thought he needed a friendly face. Maybe he was just busy talking into his tiny ear radio and didn't think about it.

"Raylan, hi," he says slowly. He takes another drag.

"You okay?" Raylan asks again. Damn, this man is a tall drink of water. He's got his hand on his hip like he's posing for a picture, his long legs askew. His eyes are squinting in the sunlight, but his smile is open and concerned. "You look like hell."

"It's been a day," TJ sighs.

"With that circus?" Raylan asks, jerking his thumb at the crowd behind him.

TJ shrugs. Raylan tilts his head. 

"Where's Tim?"

"Bathroom inside," he replies, waving towards it. His hand is still shaking. Raylan's a fucking law enforcement officer. He's going to see that. He lets his hand drop, clenching his fist.

"Kid." Raylan's taken a step toward him. "What's wrong?" 

He might be thinking TJ's coming down from something, or going through withdrawal. He probably looks it. He feels wrecked. 

Raylan looks towards the bathroom, takes a step in the direction, sidelong to TJ. TJ catches his arm. "Don't," he says, "he just needs a minute." Raylan really does look concerned. "His mom came into town. She's...a piece of work."

Raylan takes a step back. "Well, shit," he says. "Shit. That's not surprising. Your family?"

TJ shakes his head. "They've all been okay. I mean. As okay as you can. No yelling, no melodrama. They..." he swallows. "They really love Tim. Mama--she got it into her head to prove something to this woman and she..." He trails off and takes another drag. "Fuck, if it wasn't tearing my goddamn boyfriend apart I'd buy popcorn."

Raylan tilts his chin down, considering TJ for a moment of strained silence, before he speaks again. "You know, Tim used to be a real asshole to everyone at work except Rachel," he says in a strangely light tone.

TJ goggles at him. "I thought you were the asshole," he says, blowing out smoke.

Raylan grins. "Yeah, it wasn't a great work environment. Thing is, I haven't changed all that much. Old dogs and all that bullshit. But, Tim. Tim's really different."

TJ straightens up. He flicks some ash off his cig. He glares a question at Raylan.

"Tim used to treat shit at work like an obligation--teamwork, favors, anything except a chase. The chase he loves the shit out of no matter what. Thing about it now, he ain't always smiling his angry hound smile. He laughed at my joke yesterday." Raylan says this as though it's somehow unthinkable. "He was real excited about something, you could tell. But he didn't say even though everyone knew you and this bunch of craziness was rolling into town."

TJ frowns and takes another drag. He licks his lips.

"My point is, son, you're helping him." Raylan sighs and adjusts his hat, easy, like that's something people do. "I know from shitty families. And I know Tim. He don't like to think I do, or anybody else except maybe you does. But that don't change things. Because I know all that shit, I'm gonna let you in on a little secret, maybe you ain't caught onto yet."

TJ raises his brows.

"He's gonna be fine."

TJ blinks, then searches Raylan's eyes. They're open and honest and calm. He takes a breath and says, "This entire conversation is in direct conflict with everything Tim has ever told me about you."

Raylan shrugs, smiling. "Tim don't like to plumb the depths of people's character until he has to, like, when they're slapping him across the face with concern and emotional support. Ask Rachel."

TJ smiles. He thinks of what Tim said to him that night at the club, the first day they met. _I am a simple man with simple tastes_. TJ knows, and it makes sense from what's come out about his past, that Tim likes things to be as simple as possible.

He knows too that that part of Tim, that simplicity, has been good for TJ. Really, really good. And that he can be good back. He will be.

"What are you doing here anyway?" he asks Raylan.

"He didn't tell you?" Raylan laughs. "Your mama draws a big crowd, son, and this is a small city. Local PD need as much help as they can get. I was on security inside the stadium, going now to help Rachel talk down the Mayor's office from closing all four roads around some church she's going to later."

TJ giggles helplessly at that. The goddamn PFLAG meeting.

"You're taking him outta town soon, right? Rachel wheedled dinner plans out of him when he was all distracted by your impending arrival."

"Yeah," TJ replies, sobering. He rubs at his face again. He'd almost forgotten. "He wanted to take me to some barbecue joint in the suburbs. He said there'd be a band."

Raylan smiles at him like he's said or done something cute. He can't think for the life of him what it might have been, but he smiles back, feeling encouraged.

"Thanks," TJ says.

Raylan shakes his head like it was nothing and says, "I'll see you around, kid."

TJ licks his lips, dropping his burnt out butt on the ground. He takes another breath, a deep one, and lets it out slow.

They're going to be fine.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Long time on this one, your comments were so lovely an encouraging and full of awesome expectation, I got a little nervous about how to proceed. I hope you liked it! Leave a comment, or put something in my inbox on tumblr at norgbelulah.
> 
> A chapter/continuity note: In chapter 14 Elaine says the luncheon is at the alumni hall. She was mistaken, it's the faculty dining hall. Oh, campaigns! ;)
> 
> Also, I promise all this angst will come to a conclusion soon. It got so much longer than I thought it would be! More cuteness and happiness to come...plus clearly another cycle of angst. I can do this all year! :P


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some people say "I love you" a lot and there is so much angst.

Tim is washing his face when the door to the bathroom opens and he hears TJ's tentative call, "Baby?"

TJ pokes his head around the corner of the short hallway that goes from the doorway to the bathroom proper. He smiles when he sees Tim wiping his cooled, clean face on a paper towel.

"Hi," Tim says.

"Hi."

Goddammit, Tim loves him. 

He doesn't look as uncertain as Tim thought he would. Tim feels awful for yelling at him before.

"I'm sorry," they say at the same time, then TJ crosses the short space between them and wraps his arms around Tim's neck.

"You don't have anything to be sorry for," TJ murmurs in his ear. "I love you."

"You don't either," Tim tells him. "I know you're just trying to help. I'm sorry."

"Shut up, dummy," TJ cries with a half-desperate laugh.

He's warm against Tim and... safe. He feels a lot better. Even more than after he'd let loose his bottled tears, hunkered down in the toilet stall, then brought himself slowly to his feet to wash them away.

"No," he says, huffing affection into TJ's neck, letting the lingering scent of his designer cologne settle over him. "I love you too. I think--and you can quote me later when I don't believe it anymore-- we're gonna be okay."

Tim realizes suddenly that he's not sure he's ever been in a place where, when something like this happens, when shit gets crazy and hard, he could come out of it without everything feeling broken. He looks at TJ and he smiles, not easy, but almost giddily pleased. They're not broken. They're stronger.

"I know," TJ says. He looks surprised too. "I just had the nicest conversation with Raylan. He made me feel so much better."

Tim pulls back, startled. "Raylan Givens?"

TJ smirks and asks, "You know any other Raylans? Well, you might living around here. You know any other Marshals who wear a cowboy hat, what is pretty much a pair of skinny jeans, _and_ answers to Raylan?"

"I just don't understand what you mean by a nice conversation with Raylan," Tim says shaking his head. "Infuriating, sure. Funny, maybe. Nice?"

TJ laughs at him. "Come on, baby. He was nice to me--"

"Oh, to _you_ he's nice, huh?"

TJ kisses him, pulling him close again. "Shut up, jealous. He was worried about us. Worried about you. He gets it, Tim. Cut him some slack, huh?"

"I can't now. He'll know it was because of that!" Tim watches TJ giggle at his protests. His smile is wide. Tim's missed it since his mother arrived. 

"I don't want to go back out there," TJ says, drawing his hands up and into Tim's hair. "I don't think anybody would be mad if we skipped out now. Mama's probably crushed she made you so upset."

Tim blinks. "It wasn't her." He leans his forehead against TJ's. He closes his eyes. "I have to talk to my mom again. I can't run away from this."

TJ sighs, almost satisfactorily, as if he'd gotten something he didn't know he'd wanted. "You're braver than me," he murmurs.

Tim feels the need to deflect that one. "Says the man who public speaks for a living."

TJ kisses his cheek and pulls back a little, letting Tim see he knows what he's up to. "Baby, you can't hold that against me, you know those kids aren't listening."

They leave the bathroom, having been strangely undisturbed, to find Carter standing stone-faced outside of it, a small line of people trailing around the corner. “Shit,” TJ murmurs as Tim smiles a thank you at Carter and pulls TJ away by the hand.

Johanna is waiting for them inside the double doors of the cavernous dining hall, where Elaine is already giving a speech. This one, smaller and more intimate. She stumbles, only for a moment, smiling tightly, when Johanna leads them to the table where Dougie has apparently saved them seats.

The speech ends a moment later. It seemed to have been mostly a thank you for hospitality and support. The luncheon is a buffet style and when the white-shirted waiters tell Tim and TJ’s table they can rise to serve themselves, Tim positions himself next to his mother in line.

“What time do you think you’ll leave since the drive home is going to take so long?” he asks, and hopes he doesn’t sound too hurt.

“I haven’t decided,” she replies cooly. “I would like to speak with you privately, Timothy. I can’t make plans to leave until I’ve said what I came here to say.”

Tim finds himself actually curious about what that might be. He already knows her arguments. He’s heard them from others before, and herself the first night. He wonders, out of all of it, what she’s decided is the thing she absolutely must say, the thing that she thinks might convince him to change for her.

“I won’t have you insulting the person I love behind his back,” Tim says, as they come up to the long tables. “You won’t speak to me about any of this without his presence.” 

He takes a plate and silverware just after she does. She looks away from where she’d been studying the food ahead of her, to stare at him wide-eyed.

It takes him a moment to realize what she’s so surprised by.

“What did you think was happening here, mother?” he asks in a tight whisper.

She turns away, reaching for the tongs resting inside the field greens salad bowl.

Elaine does rounds through the room, like the bride at a wedding, while everyone gets their food. She comes over to the family’s table as soon as Tim is about to sit down with his food. 

“Tim,” she says, and TJ turns, surprised as Tim is that she didn’t use a nick name. He meets her eyes as she continues, “I am so sorry about before.”

Her sincerity and kindness throughout the day presses on Tim’s heart. He feels a wave of emotion, so different from the one he’d tried unsuccessfully to tamp down on his flight to the restroom, rise up in him. He smiles at her, wanting desperately enough to reassure as quickly as possible that he speaks without thought. “I’m fine, Ma--ma’am,” he stumbles. He really hadn’t meant to even think of her that way. She touches his face. “Really,” he says and he thinks there might be tears in her eyes. “Thank you.”

“Okay,” she answers, visibly choked up. “We’ll talk later.”

Tim doesn’t mean to, he really doesn’t, but he catches his mother’s eye across the table as Elaine walks away. Her expression is so cold, so remote, that Tim knows she must have heard everything he said and almost said and didn’t say as well.

Tim doesn’t know what to do. He never meant to hurt her about these things. He never meant for the Hammonds to be so good to him, to know him so much more than his own family does. He never meant for that. But her actions, her words, her silence--they never _helped_ either.

TJ takes his hand for a brief moment. Not long, because they’re eating, but it’s enough. Tim knows he’s there.

TJ somehow arranges a car to take them from the luncheon back to Tim's apartment. There's an awkward round of hand-shaking with Tim's mother as they say goodbyes in a private room off of the dining area followed by sweeping hugs from Dougie, Anne and Elaine. 

"We'll see you tomorrow for breakfast before we head to the airport, yes?" Elaine asks, looking between TJ and Tim. "I'd like a word with you both then, if you don't mind."

TJ nods, eyes going straight to Tim's mother and Tim adds, "Of course."

She looks impatient again, like she doesn't understand what could be taking so long. Like she can't see the relationship Tim has with these people because it doesn't fit into her narrative. 

Tim sighs, smiles at the President again--he can tell she still feels bad--and follows TJ out the door, keeping pace with his mother, who doesn't look back.

They say nothing in the car. His mother sits with her arms crossed again, keeping herself still and tight. He hears her when she sighs. TJ is staring out the window. He's licking his lips every so often, so Tim knows he's thinking hard about something. 

Tim's own mind is a strange blank. He doesn't know what to expect now, but he finds he hardly cares. He'll listen to her, he'll give her an answer, not the one she wants, and they'll be done for a while. That's all he has to do.

When they get back to Tim's place, TJ goes straight to Tim's pathetic liquor cabinet--a compartment inside a side table next to his book shelf--and pulls out some off brand whiskey. He pours a glass and takes a large gulp while Tim's mother looks on, horrified.

TJ glares at her. "You're already judging me," he growls and Tim loves him so much. "You can tell him whatever the hell you want, lady, and I promise you I won't say anything. But you can't make me feel bad for this," he says waving the glass at her, "and you can't make me fucking leave."

She looks at Tim, then back to TJ, as if she thinks Tim's going to intervene somehow. Tim says nothing.

"Go on," TJ cries, flopping down on Tim's couch. "We're waiting."

She opens her mouth to speak but, to his surprise, so does Tim. "Wait a second," he says. She blinks at him and he hesitates, but then continues, "I know you're going to make this about TJ again."

TJ looks up at him, eyes wide.

"Don't," Tim tells her. "You think this is about him, but it's really really not. This is about me. About the way I am and the choices I've made because of that. I like to think that I would have made those choices even if it wasn't TJ I was with."

She's shaking her head at him, like that doesn't make any sense to her. "But you didn't, Timothy. You were _fine_ without him. You were--"

Tim laughs and she stops speaking immediately. It sounds hollow and bitter, but he does it anyway and says, "It's hilarious to me that that's what you think. That I was fine. When what you mean is that I was closeted and desperately lonely. Mother," he says, not allowing himself to pull the punch, "I was _not_ fine." 

"But why didn't you say something?" she cries. "I could have come to help you."

"I knew what kind of help you wanted to give me," Tim says grimacing. "And it wasn't about needing help, it was about figuring my shit out and having someone to be there while I do it. I don't understand how you can't see this from any perspective outside your own. Do you really think that you have ever said or done anything to me since you found out that would have made me think you could help me? That would have made me want to be honest with you about any aspect of my life?"

"I...I tried to tell you, Tim, to _warn_ you. The Bible teaches what you're doing is a sin. It's unhealthy, unnatural. Your soul is in peril!" She sounds utterly convinced and honestly terrified for him. 

Tim can't take it. He shakes his head. "Mom, it's hurtful what you think you know about this. You hurt me. When he _hated_ me so much he finally...and you watched it. And then you told me you hated me too."

"I never did!" Her eyes are wide and she's shaking her head like that will make Tim's accusations go away. "I only want to help you. I only want you to be happy."

Tim closes his eyes.

"I can't see how putting yourself at risk with this boy, living this lifestyle can make you happy."

Tim sighs and looks at her. He smiles ruefully. She can't see. He doesn't know how to make her. "Mom, you don't know because I haven't let you. You haven't seen me before and now, but I have literally never been happier in my entire life."

He can't look at TJ. He thought he heard a sniffle a moment ago coming from his direction. If he's made TJ cry, he's going to push her out the fucking door and lock it up for a goddamn week. He can't do that though. They have to finish this. He doesn't look at TJ.

"What about what you're giving up?" She takes a step towards him. He thinks, as she does, that he hasn't been this close to her for so much time in years and years. Everyone in that house kept a wide berth, even when Tim was small. "What about a wife, children--a family, Timothy?"

Tim smiles again, surprising himself once more. "I have TJ's family, if you're worried about that. Though you shouldn't be. You saw today how they've welcomed me. I love them. They're wonderful." He shakes his head at her, mystified as he really thinks about it, and asks, "What about my childhood do you think would have endeared me to the idea of procreating? Did Dad make you happy? Did we?"

She jerks her head back as though he's slapped her, but she says nothing. 

He juts his jaw. "I didn't think so."

She's blinking back tears and he makes himself hard against them. She was the one who wanted to talk. "I wanted more for you," she whispers.

"I have more now, Mom."

"You don't," she says. "You're lost. You've been led astray, honey."

Tim feels the endearment like a blow. It's manipulative. She never calls him anything other than his name. Not in so long.

"Don't," he says. "I know that you think that. I tried today. TJ's whole family tried to show you you're wrong--"

"What they've done," she interrupts him, finally revealing a blaze of anger in her eyes and her shoulders, "Is seduce you with their extravagant, sinful lifestyle. Of course they say they love you! They're _overjoyed_ he's found someone like you to shunt into the spotlight, to make sure the nation knows she hasn't completely lost her delinquent son to the excesses of sodomy and sloth. You're a golden boy, indisputably masculine, a war hero. You're exactly what they want. They're using you to clean up his tarnished image and you're letting them!"

TJ doesn't make a noise, but Tim needs to look at him now. His face is a brittle mask, impassive, as he stares into his drink. He's clenching his jaw, rhythmically. He must have started to stop himself from speaking, but he doesn't look like he wants to do anything now.

Tim crosses the room to him. He kneels down and touches TJ's face. "Hey," he says. TJ blinks at him. Tears threaten to spill from the corners of his eyes. "You know that's a load of bullshit," Tim tells him.

"Yeah," TJ says, his voice breaking as he leans into Tim's hand. "Yeah."

Tim kisses his creased forehead tenderly, then stands, looking back at his mother. TJ takes his hand, clutches it, and leans his tear-streaked face against Tim's stomach.

"You need to go now," he says coldly.

"What?" she breathes. "Timothy, no."

He shakes his head. "I wished before that you hadn't come without calling, but now I'm glad you did. I know you want what you think is best for me, but you're so wrong, Mom. I can't hear it anymore and I sure as hell won't let TJ hear it. It's fucking poison. Please don't contact me until you're ready to really listen to what I'm trying to tell you."

Her eyes are locked on TJ, where he's still pressed tight against Tim's body. He doesn't think it's hatred he sees in her eyes. Maybe he just doesn't want to admit that's what it is. But she straightens again, her spine going rigid as she clutches at her bag.

"I think I've said enough for today," she says, almost as though she hadn't heard the last words he'd spoken. "The drive, as I said earlier, is long by myself. I'll be in touch, son."

Tim and TJ don't move until she closes the door behind her.

 

TJ can't get what Suzanne Gutterson said out of his head.

He was listening when Tim said it was bullshit and he didn't just say, "yeah." He knows it is. But he can't stop thinking about it either.

That's how people see he and Tim. He can't believe he never thought about it. He really can't believe his mother, or even Dougie, hasn't thought about it that way.

It makes him feel sick.

That was never what he wanted this to be. And it was so wonderful that it wasn't.

TJ leans his head against the car window.

After Suzanne left, Tim knelt down again in front of TJ and they just held each other, for so long.

"I love you," Tim said. "I love you so much. She can't change that. She can't even come fucking close."

"I know," TJ had told him. "I know, baby."

"I'm sorry you had to hear that."

"It's not your fault."

They went on like that for a while, each needing to hear what the other already knew.

They kissed desperately, showing each other they were still there, and Tim said, "I don't want to take a car tonight. I want to drive us."

TJ told Carter to follow them to the restaurant.

"Your mother doesn't like you to do that on campaign stops," Carter said.

TJ gave him a look, it was long and full of all the bullshit they'd been through since the morning. "This isn't a campaign stop for me anymore. This is Lexington." He and Mama had negotiated on Lexington. When TJ was with Tim in his hometown, the agents would back off if he asked them.

Carter had said, cool as you please, "So it is." 

So now Tim is driving.

"You don't have to talk to me right now," Tim says suddenly, breaking the silence. "But if what she said is bothering you, we're gonna talk about it eventually."

TJ crosses his arms and doesn't look at Tim. "It's stupid."

"It's not. Whatever you're thinking, it's not stupid, TJ. You're not stupid." Tim seems really insistent to contradict him whenever TJ uses that word. TJ's never serious, not really, he knows he's not, he just never does anything the right way, never thinks about things right either. Like the shit Suzanne Gutterson was spewing all over the place. He should just forget it. Except he can't.

"I'm not even thinking anything about it," TJ says defensively. "I just can't believe I never thought about it before. Of course that's what people see when they see you and me."

"But that doesn't matter, sweetheart."

"I know it fucking doesn't," TJ huffs. "That's why it's stupid."

"It's _not_ ," Tim growls. "It's bothering you."

TJ throws a resentful look across the car to Tim and says, "Look, this is just how it is, baby. It's going to bother me until it doesn't anymore. I know you feel guilty because it was your mom that said it, but you _know_ that's just as much bullshit as the shit she said. You weren't thinking about it any more than I was and we both know that's not why we're together. I love you and I don't want to fight about this."

Tim sighs. "Shit. I don't want to either," he says as he pulls into the parking lot of a building that looks a hell of a lot like the roadhouse from the movie _Roadhouse_.

TJ turns to his boyfriend, his wonderful, gorgeous, incredibly brave and strong BOYFRIEND and says, "Are you gonna teach me the way of the bouncer?"

Tim laughs, hard, at that. Grinning, he grabs onto TJ's arm and pulls him close as they walk into the place. "You'll have to ask Raylan about that. He moonlights as one apparently."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry about the delay on this one, I had a busy weekend also wanted to make sure I got this right. Back to hilarious fluff soon, I PROMISE. I love you all, thanks for all the wonderful comments. I'd love to hear what you think of this chapter!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Tim and TJ get to have a little fun.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Tonally, this chapter might give you a little whiplash, in comparison with the last one. Warning: a metric fuckton of fluff.

"Baby, is this place a gay bar?"

Inside the roadhouse, it doesn't look quite so rough as the dive in the movie, but it is rustic and a bit loud. The kitchen is open and noisy towards the rear of the place, the waitresses shout to each other across the tables, and the band is discordantly tuning itself. That's all fine. 

But TJ's noticed, as he's trained himself to look for these things over the years going to so many different places, that the bar--not the restaurant part of the bar--but the bar itself, is completely populated by men. Men who are talking to each other, hanging out in small groups, very casually, and also very nondescriptly. None of them are especially flamboyant, but about fifty to seventy percent of them are fit and are particularly well-groomed.

TJ doesn't like stereotypes, but they can be helpful when you want to find a place to drink.

Tim shrugs, but bites his lip to give himself away. "Not advertised as such. And not owned or operated as such, but the place has a bit of a reputation. Mostly for not being assholes to people. And they've got the stage and the restaurant. The pick-up spot is the bar. They don't mix all that often."

TJ smiles. "You come here a lot?"

Tim shrugs at that too, but keeps his poker face this time.

They're waiting for the hostess to seat them and when she comes over, she gives them several looks. Not just a double take, a triple take, with wide eyes, first, surprisingly at Tim, then at TJ, then between them. Then, she offers them a brilliant smile, a beam of sunshine, and says, "Right this way, boys."

TJ glances over at Tim, but he's casting his eyes towards the bar and maybe wasn't looking at the hostess at all.

She's a bigger girl, dressed in black with a short ponytail. She has cat-eye make up on and a little constellation of stars tattooed around the corner of her right eye, which she winks at TJ as she says, "Katie'll be around to take your drink orders."

TJ sits across from Tim, while they both can turn towards the stage where the band is still warming up. He leans forward and says, "You don't come here a lot, huh?"

Tim gives him a blank look.

"She knows you," TJ says, leaning his head towards where the hostess ran off to.

Tim wrinkles his nose at him. "No, she doesn't. She just knows you."

TJ frowns, not unhappily. He just doesn't get Tim sometimes.

In the next moment the waitress, presumably Katie, does come around. She's tall and slim, with a long blonde ponytail and hands that look older than her face. She gives Tim a brief pat on the shoulder and says, "Hey sweetie, what'll you have?"

TJ cocks his head at Tim, who gives him a weird look and says, "Two bourbons, not well. What's the next one up?"

She smiles, putting away her little pad of paper. "Got a special on Eagle Rare. Two bucks off."

"That then," Tim says and she's off.

TJ frowns at him again. "She knew you too."

Tim sits back. "She did not."

"She called you sweetie."

Tim shakes his head. "I bet she does that to everybody."

TJ throws up his hands. He doesn't even bother to mention the shoulder thing. Tim's not going to be convinced and the band starts up right after anyway.

Tim said the band was a bluegrass/rock fusion and TJ hears the twang, but it's not the kind of music he's usually into. He likes anything live though and the beat is fast and fun, while the singer's vocals are deeper than he'd expected. It's a good sound.

Tim leans over the table to speak to him. "It was real lucky you came this weekend. These guys are based in town, but they've been touring a lot lately."

TJ grins. Tim is clearly excited. "They're really good."

Tim makes a face like he thinks TJ might just be saying that, so TJ rolls his eyes at him and they both smile like the twitterpated dorks they are. They finish their drinks and order another round with pulled pork sandwiches. TJ gets the sauce all over his face like a toddler and Tim's still smiling.

When they're finished, Tim, whose grin is so much more lazy now that he's clearly buzzed, slides from his chair and stands, holding his hand out to TJ. "Wanna dance?"

TJ grins and does an exaggerated mime, throwing his shoulders back and looking around. "Who, me?" he asks, delightedly, pointing at his chest.

"Shut up, asshole."

TJ goes with him.

There's only a few couples on the dance floor, which is small and right in front of the stage where the band's playing. None of them are two guys either, but Tim either doesn't notice or doesn't care. He pulls TJ right into the center of the floor and yanks him into a fast spin, before they come together and get their bearings right. It's always a little confusing when they start out, each trying to lead, or backing off too fast and neither of them does. 

TJ lets Tim go ahead this time, and he takes it right away, grinning and pulling him into a fun little two-step that goes right along with the music. It's the most confident TJ's ever seen Tim on the dance floor and it's kind of an incredible turn on.

They don't get too close. They don't hold back either, though. It's easy and fun and where TJ's looking for side-eyes and frowns, he sees curious glances, and smiles hidden behind hands or a dance partner's shoulder. TJ's usually tired of being a novelty, but Tim's not looking at anybody but him and they're pretty much killing it out there. They dance through the set.

There's a round of drinks that they hadn't ordered waiting for them back at the table and Tim looks around the place like it was put there by magic.

TJ shakes his head. "And you think they don't like you," he says.

Tim scrunches up his face. "I never said that. I said they don't know me. Maybe they like you, dummy."

TJ's thirsty and drinks his bourbon too fast at Tim. Tim thrusts his water glass across the table. It's thoroughly drenched in condensation and it gets TJ's hands wet as he picks it up to take a long gulp. 

He looks long at Tim and thinks about the day for the first time in maybe an hour or two. He smiles softly at him, head tilted to the side. "Thank you," he says, the words coming almost unbidden.

Tim looks taken aback. "What for?"

"I love this so much," TJ says. He wants to tell Tim he loves being with him the most. That he doesn't want to be apart anymore. He doesn't know how to say that. He thinks it's all too fast.

Everything up until now has been fast. TJ's not sure, after today, how much more fast they can take.

The band starts up again and Tim drinks all his water, shoots the free bourbon, and holds his hands, both of them, out to TJ again.

They dance all fucking night.

Eventually, they're just dancing to the jukebox, slow songs crooned by men with three names that Tim whispers in his ear. They don't order any more drinks, but every once in a while a round appears for them, until the bartender shouts last call and TJ realizes the place has emptied out.

He drags Tim over to the bar, though for some reason--TJ's admittedly drunk brain can't quite figure it out-- he seems reluctant. "I want last call," TJ says, grinning.

The bartender, TJ is pretty sure, isn't queer, but he doesn't seem like he's gonna hate on anybody. Actually, he's smiling, like crazy-eyes grinning at TJ and Tim with their hands clasped together.

"Aw, shit son," the bartender says, his bright blue eyes twinkling under the lights above the bar. He's an older guy, with thinning hair, but none gray, and some kind of sports jersey on, maybe from a local high school team. "Well if that don't beat all," he drawls.

TJ widens his eyes. "What?" he says expectantly. This dude couldn't drop words like that and not say anything else. 

The guy answers, but when he does, he's looking at Tim. "My son said I was crazy, but I knew that was you in them pictures in the magazines, with this here boy."

TJ's jaw drops and Tim frowns. "Me?" Tim asks.

"Yeah you, sourpuss," the bartender says. "You think I don't remember you comin' in here two and three times a week, looking around, drinking a few, lookin' sad as hell and not talkin’ to anybody?"

TJ can't help it. He starts giggling. He grabs at Tim's arm and starts tugging on it. "I told you," he whispers first, then repeats with increasing intensity. "I told you, baby."

Tim tries to shake him off, not angrily, just annoyed. TJ doesn't let go.

"I been sending over drinks all night," the bartender goes on to say. 

"I told you," TJ says again to which Tim replies, "Yeah, okay, sweetheart. You're real smart."

TJ beams.

"Jesus, that kid is head over for you," the bartender says and TJ loves him too. "I got a bet going with my son, he's gay, you see, if it was you in them pictures. And it fuckin' was. I told him some years back he could tell his friends, if they didn't have no place nice to drink, they could come to my place. Boys like you been showing up ever since."

"Boys like me," Tim says slowly.

"The sad kind," the bartender elaborates. "The kind's waiting for somebody." He looks at TJ now and says, "And we're all so glad you been around for so long, and hanging in there for these fuckin' kids. My Avery, he had a big hard on for you when you was both boys."

TJ doesn't really know how to respond to any of that. He likes it, it’s so nice, but he lets his eyes roam over the bar and asks sincerely, "Did we miss last call?"

"Shit, no," the man cries. "Not for you kids." He pours them two more bourbons even though Tim is waving his off. "Your mom's gonna kill me, I drive drunk with you in the car." TJ leans his head on Tim's shoulder.

Some other dude down the bar yells, "Imma text Avery you said that, Pappy. About his hard on."

Pappy remains unfazed. "He had them damn magazine clippings all up on his wall. Ain't nobody didn't know what he was jerking off to."

TJ does an actual spit take on that one. The bourbon burns up his nose and he grabs tight onto the bar. Tim's coughing a laugh into his hand, leaning his head close to TJ.

TJ’s head is spinning, not just with the booze. He’s never felt so welcome anywhere in his goddamn life. "Can we sleep on your floor?" TJ asks. He never wants to leave this glorious oasis.

"TJ, shut up," Tim says and kisses him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the delay. Summer is crazy at my jobs! I hope you guys liked this one. It's shorter than usual, but I wanted to get it out. As usual, your comments have been lovely. Let me know what you think of this one, here or at this name on tumblr. <3


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which some things catch up with Tim and TJ.

It's only a week after TJ's Lexington visit, that ended so much better than it began, that things take another nose dive into the shit.

Tim always gets like this after he has to shoot somebody. The military jargon just rolls off his tongue without him thinking about it at all. It's not like he never says that stuff normally, but it's always in his regular self-deprecating, joking kind of way. Not a blank, "Hooah," as he's putting his kit away when Art asks him if he's all right.

It was like round two of that sniper scare in front of the courthouse a year or so back, when Boyd Crowder and that mining woman was up Raylan's ass for a few days. Somebody else got themselves pissed at a Judge and staked out the place. This time, Tim got up on the roof and winged the guy, except the motherfucker ran instead of rolled over and he had a gun in his hand, a pistol aimed at the ladder Rachel was climbing up to get to him.

Tim shot the asshole right between the eyes before he pulled the trigger on his partner.

It was a good thing, it was. Except after, even though it was an overcast day, he felt the sun hot on his neck, and he thought he smelled the desert instead of gunpowder. And after that, everyone congratulated him and he couldn't say thanks because it felt wrong, and his mouth wasn't moving fast enough. It wasn't moving at all.

Except to say, "Hooah," to his civilian boss.

Art gives him this _look_ and Tim shakes his head, eyes pleading.

 _Please don't say anything_.

"Call your boyfriend," Art tells him and walks out of the locker room.

Shit, that's the last thing Tim should do.

On the way home he buys two bottles of bottom shelf vodka. When he gets in he pours two fingers into the dregs of the OJ he'd bought to serve to TJ with breakfast and sits down to text TJ, _Maybe don't call me for about 6 hours_.

He feels it, behind his eyes, still stuck in his nostrils. His hearts been racing all afternoon and he can't hold it back anymore. He hacks something that half a sob and half a cough and presses his palms to his face.

"Fuck."

He's seeing Deckard's--Will's--face in the darkness behind his closed eyelids.

Tim should have been able to make that fucking shot.

And then his phone rings.

Tim picks it up. He imagines the hurt look on TJ's face. He's already fucked this up. He can't think of another way he could have gone to avoid talking to him. Now he'll know.

He doesn't speak, only presses the green button.

"Tim? What the fuck?" TJ hisses in a hushed tone. "What was that supposed to mean? I thought you were off work."

"I am," he says. It's his eyes that hurt. His throat feels numb. So do his fingers. He takes another drink. Maybe he can get his eyes so numb they won't see Deckard.

TJ doesn't speak for a moment. Then he says, "Baby, what's wrong?"

Tim can't answer. Instead he says, "Where are you?" He should know that. He should know, but he can't remember right now.

"Orange County," TJ says, off, because Tim should know. They spoke about it this morning.

"That's really far away," Tim mumbles, leaning forward to grab his drink. He shakes his head, thinking, _oh, shit, oh, shit_ , and says, "Sweetheart, I can't talk right now."

"Tim, tell me why you can't talk," TJ demands. Not in a mean, angry way, but in a patient way that sounds like TJ already knows.

Tim doesn't want him to. He came close enough with that shit on the way to DC on the plane. Tim never wanted TJ to see this. "I don't--" and he almost says that, bites it off before he does and shakes his head, pressing his forehead down onto his kitchen table, which feels cool, when the back of his neck feels so fucking hot. "I don't know what I'm saying, I--" he swallows. "Can't talk if I don't know, can I?"

"Baby, tell me right now what you're doing."

"Drinking a screwdriver. Talking to you."

"Where are you?"

"Home. In the kitchen," he says roughly. Tim frowns. He doesn't like this 3rd degree.

"Did you take any medicine? Jesus, I don't even know if you have any prescriptions," TJ breathes. Tim hears someone say something, muffled but urgent to him. "One second," TJ calls, a little desperately, away from the receiver.

"I'm _fine_ ," Tim protests.

"Tim, you're really not. Did you fucking take anything?"

The hurt in TJ's voice gives Tim pause. "No, TJ. I didn't. I don't--don't have anything like that. I promise."

"Baby, I'm gonna come," TJ says quickly, like his words need to race as fast as his mind. "I'm gonna get out of this thing...somehow...and I'm gonna--Johanna, come here--"

" _No_ ," Tim says fiercely. "Don't you fucking dare."

"Tim, you need someone right now and I--"

"You're not going to fuck up your shit to race here for something that's going to blow over in a few hours. I've done this before, TJ. By myself. A lot," he swallows as he says the last thing because he thinks TJ might be crying.

"I didn't want to talk because I didn't want--please don't do that, sweetheart. Don't come, don't cry, don't worry, okay?"

"I'm not crying," TJ says stiffly and Tim realizes it's his own face that's wet.

"Don't come, don't come," he says, wiping desperately at his tears. It feels like sweat dripping down, even the hillbilly armor was always so hot. His breath is heavy now, he can't stop it.

"Baby, how bad does it get?" TJ whispers.

"Worse," Tim chokes. "Worse than this. I'm fine. I'm fine." As soon as he finishes speaking, Tim realizes that was the wrong thing to say. "I'm sorry. Shit, I'm gonna--"

" _Don't hang up_ ," TJ cries. "Fuck. Tim just stop and listen to me."

Tim nods his head, and involuntarily makes some kind of noise that sounds awful, like a sick puppy.

"I don't know anything about this," TJ says and his voice sounds so much more calm than his words. "I don't know why I didn't think about it, but I'm going to fix that. I'm...I'm going to call somebody after I talk to these kids...No, JoJo's gonna call Dougie and she's going to get me things to read and someone to talk to and I'm...I'm going to call you later. Please, Tim, please pick up when I call. We won't have to talk about anything you don't want to, I just...If I can't come to you, I want you to know I'm thinking about you, about this. I want to help. Please let me do that."

Tim nods again and says, "Okay," a long moment later, remembering TJ wouldn't see it.

"Please, if you can, just tell me what happened today."

Tim sighs. "I shot somebody on the roof."

"Okay," TJ says. "Okay, baby, I have to go. I love you so much. Please answer the phone when I call."

Tim smiles and wishes TJ could see it. It was a hard thing to pull off. "I wouldn't let it ring," he says and hangs up.

 

TJ does his routine on the auditorium stage so fast, he's not entirely sure the kids got what he was even there for, let alone the moral of the story, but he doesn't really care at this point. He needs to get the fuck out of here.

He'd had a hurried conversation with Johanna before he went out and when he walks off, she hands him a stack of papers--apparently having commandeered the printer in the teacher's lounge--and says, "Your brother's assistant forwarded me the phone number of a counselor at the DC VA. She's been slightly briefed, so you can call her whenever you feel like you're ready."

TJ squints at the print on the page in the low light behind the stage. "Who briefed her?"

"I did," Johanna says. "I told her you were a friend of Douglas Hammond whose boyfriend is ex-military. That your boyfriend has had problems with PTSD in the past and that you want to know what you can do to help."

TJ nods. "All right." He's already decided as soon as he gets on the phone with this woman, he's just going to lay it out. It'll be obviously manipulative if she follows the tabloids enough to guess anyway. "I'll read this on the way to the airport. Where are we going next?"

"Seattle. You had plans to eat diner in Newport Beach before the flight at 9:00, I'm assuming you want to scrap that. I'll arrange some food for you when we get to the sky lounge."

TJ sighs, pressing fingers to the bridge of his nose. "Will you also figure out how soon I could possibly get into Lexington, please?"

"Do you want me to arrange that if you drop something, or leave your schedule as is?"

TJ opens his mouth, makes a crazy grimace, and forces himself to say, "Tim won't have it if I cancel something for him, for _this_. So, just, when am I going to be anywhere near there? Even if it's just a night or whatever."

Johanna lays a hand on his arm. He looks at her, sees the understanding in her eyes. "I'll do that, and see what I can do with Charla about the campaign stops coming up. There has to be one you don't _really_ need to be at."

Charla is Dougie's campaign assistant. TJ can't remember the head one, the political one's name. He thinks maybe his brother has another one too. He doesn't know how he keeps track.

TJ reads some NIH papers, real simple ones about PTSD. It's mostly stuff he figured he knew before, but it's nice to get an overview, to make sure what he's thinking hasn't entirely been colored by shit he's seen on TV. He's got some brochure print outs from the VA too and everything he's reading makes him realize how little he knows about Tim's self-treatment, hell, any treatment he might have had in regards to his trauma in the years since he left the Army.

This is something they've never talked about at all. He doesn't even know if Tim's in therapy. If he's having episodes or panic attacks or whatever it was he heard on the phone, it's clear to TJ that if he's not, he fucking well should be.

TJ calls Tim with facetime on his iPad from the sky lounge. He's barely touched his food and Johanna has steered the only other person in the joint well away from where TJ's sitting. She really is the best.

TJ's heart is hammering in his chest. It was two in the afternoon when Tim called him originally and it's been about three and a half hours since then, which would make it about 8:30 in Lexington. If he doesn't pick up, TJ's going to get Johanna to find Rachel Brooks' number.

All this worry about Tim having contacts in TJ's family, all this talk about support systems, and TJ doesn't even know how to get in touch with Tim's closest friend.

Finally, Tim answers. All TJ can see is darkness and the shadowed curve of an ear. Tim makes a grunting, groaning noise.

"Baby, I called you on facetime, just hold the phone in front of you, okay?"

Tim says, "Oh. Fuck me," and in a moment, TJ sees his darkened, bleary eyed face. The lights must be off in what looks like Tim's bedroom.

"Did I wake you up?"

Tim shakes his head no. "Hi."

TJ gives him a weak smile. "Hey. How are you feeling?"

"Pretty numb," he mumbles. He turns over in the bed, frowning in concentration to prop his phone up on a pillow. His eyes drift open and shut and his smile is a broken mirror of TJ's, laced with pain and heartache. "Drifting," he adds, with a barely lucid sigh.

"How much more did you drink?"

Tim doesn't open his eyes when he answers, "A lot."

Michelle, the counselor, said that it was likely Tim self medicates with booze when he has an episode--episode was the word she kept using--and it took a while for TJ to get a clear picture of what that is exactly.

When he finally asked her, she said, "It's different for different people. Sometimes it's flashbacks to the trauma, sometimes it's acute anxiety, maybe nightmares." TJ remembers the way Tim sounded so tired when he was sitting in the kitchen in the townhouse, telling Nana, _I just don't like flashbacks_.

TJ could kick himself. With everything else that happened that weekend, they'd never talked about it. He thinks, no he knows now, that Tim preferred it that way.

"Did you eat any food?"

Tim opens his eyes and shakes his head. "Why are you so good to me?" he asks and the uncertainty in his voice brings tears to TJ's eyes.

"You know," TJ tells him.

Tim's brow creases in pain and he wipes a hand across his mouth. "I can't remember right now."

"I love you, Tim." As far as TJ's concerned it's a simple as that. He can no longer imagine his life without Tim in it. He can barely suffer to be apart from him when he's clearly in this kind of pain.

"Why?" Tim whispers, hushed.

TJ's hands are shaking. He wants to touch him so badly. Wants to brush the damp hair away from his face. He takes a breath and starts talking. "Baby, you are _so strong_ ," he says. "And I know people say that to you a lot, or shit that sounds like that to you because of what you did in the Army and what you do now and what you seem like to people who don't really know you."

TJ licks his lips and keeps going. Tim is staring at him, wide-eyed and mouth parted. "But I know, Tim, I _know_ you're strong, not just because of all of that stuff, but because of all the things you told me about growing up with your dad and your mom and all that shit you just went through with her. I love you because you came through all that, you listened to her and then you told her to leave. Not because she hurt you, that you were willing to forgive, but because she hurt _me_. I love you for that and I love you for Pride and for the fucking Belgariad and for that stupid note you left me the first fucking night. You're my goddamn boyfriend, Tim, because you were strong enough to make it happen, because you wanted me and sometimes I don't know why either, but it's working, isn't it?"

"Yeah," Tim says sniffling.

"You didn't think this shit was going to scare me off, did it?" TJ hears anger in his voice now, something born of desperation and fear.

"No," Tim says, guiltily, like it might be half a lie.

"Good," TJ tells him and hides his face in his hands for a moment. He wipes his face and takes another breath and says, "Baby, I'm pretty sure you didn't eat dinner. Do you want JoJo to call you in something?"

"No," Tim says, his voice small. "There's food, I c'n--"

"Don't even, honey. I'm not even letting you near the microwave right now. She's gonna order you sushi and soup, okay? That'll be easy."

Tim frowns. "I have a phone," he protests. "I have money."

TJ smiles at him. "Yeah, but you're on the phone with me."

Tim sits up, picking up his phone and shakily following his face with it. He scrubs his other hand across his eyes and into his hair. "I'll get you back," he says, and he sounds a lot more like himself. He stands up and something lurches in TJ's stomach.

"Where are you going?" he asks, trying and failing for casual.

"Thirsty," Tim mumbles.

"You're not going to--"

Tim chances a glance at his phone rather than at the floor he'd clearly been watching. "I'm not gonna drink no more vodka. I gotta work tomorrow."

"What? Like hell you do."

Something hard comes into Tim's eyes, illuminated by the refrigerator door opening. "'M not gonna talk about it. This doesn't get in the way of me doing my job."

TJ wonders how well he can do it if he's hungover as fuck, but he bites his tongue. He's not looking for a fight. He still needs to talk to Tim about this. Even if Tim doesn't answer him, he still needs to ask his questions.

After Tim carefully pours himself a glass of water, TJ prods him to sit down at the kitchen table where he props his phone up against whatever giant volume of whatever long-winded fantasy series he's been reading lately.

"Baby, I'm going to lay some shit out for you, okay?" TJ says slowly. "Then I'm going to ask you some questions. You don't have to say anything or answer right now, but I want you to know, if you don't, we're going to keep having this discussion until you do. If you tell me you're not ready, that's fine, but I'm going to keep asking."

Tim just looks at him blankly. TJ doesn't think he's going to speak, but then he does, the words coming seemingly unbidden from his mouth. "I never wanted to hide shit from you."

TJ lets out a breath. "Why didn't you say something, babe?"

Tim shakes his head. He shuts his eyes and lets his fingers fall across his brow. "You never asked and I...couldn't make myself...'t's so _hard_. Easier to-to--"

"Pretend it's nothing?" TJ finishes for him. They had this conversation and TJ didn't push. He'd gotten distracted. He should have known better.

"Yeah."

"Well, now we're going to talk about it."

Tim nods, leaning his head fully on his hand now. TJ feels bad for stopping him from crawling back into bed, but he needs to make sure Tim will answer the door for the food when it comes.

"I read some stuff and I called somebody at the VA. She was really helpful," TJ starts, but pauses when Tim jerks upright and gives him a strangely hostile look.

"What? Why d'you do that?"

TJ shakes his head. "I told you I was going to, Tim. I told you before I don't know anything about this." He suddenly realizes what about it that's making Tim upset. "I didn't call the Lexington VA, baby. I didn't call anybody who knows you. Dougie sent JoJo this woman in Washington's number. I didn't even tell her your name."

Tim's breathing has sped up. TJ can see it in the way his chest is moving.

"I wouldn't do that without asking, I swear. They wouldn't give me any information anyway, honey. You know that."

Tim's bracing his hands on either side of his neck and leaning forward towards the phone, eyes stuck to the surface of the table. "Sorry," he mutters. "Sorry, sorry."

"It's okay," TJ assures him. "I don't want anybody knowing my shit either. Except you."

Tim looks up at him, but he doesn't sit up, so he's looking through his lashes, uncertainly. He looks like he's expecting to be hit. "Right," he breathes, "Okay."

TJ glances at the clock, he's got a few hours until he needs to leave here and board the plane. He'd sent a text to Johanna to tell her to order Tim food, but he sees her coming over with two glasses of beer in her hand. She silently sets one down next to TJ's iPad and gives him a soft smile. "Should be there in fifteen," she says in a low voice.

"Thank you," he mouths and she slips off back towards the bar in the far end of the lounge.

TJ straightens his shoulders and looks back to the screen to find Tim just watching him. His head is pillowed in his arms crossed on the table and he gives TJ a sleepy smile.

"How drunk are you still?" TJ asks.

"Pretty drunk," he says.

"Does it make it better?" TJ hadn't meant to ask that, he's just so overwhelmingly curious.

Tim shakes his head. "Not better really. Different. Muted. I think I'd do something crazy, I didn't drown it out."

"What is it?" TJ asks. "What happens?"

Tim shrugs. "It's like it's happening. Like I'm there. I c'n smell it. I feel hot. If I close my eyes, I see it. Sometimes, if I don't, I see it anyway."

TJ knows his eyes are wide. "Is it happening now?"

Tim shakes his head, but he says, "It's different. If I close my eyes, I see him."

"Who?"

"Deckard. When I didn't make the shot." Tim sighs and closes his eyes again. "I have dreams sometimes it's you. "

"What do you mean it's me?"

"That takes a bullet to the neck."

TJ blinks, somehow totally unprepared for this. Tim has dreamed that TJ dies from a neck wound in Afghanistan, like his army ex-boyfriend. TJ shakes his head. He actually doesn't know if they were boyfriends or not.

TJ remembers Tim's words. _I'm not as new at this as you think._

Why didn't TJ fucking push about any of this stuff?

He knows, and he sighs. It was easier not to.

Tim's looking at him like he thinks he might have said too much. TJ doesn't smile, can't in that moment, but he clears his expression of fear and doubt and he asks gently, "Have you been in treatment, baby? At all?"

Tim's eyes widen at the question. He looks mutinous for a moment, like he's going to refuse to answer, like there's a part of him that wants to spit that it's none of TJ's business. TJ knows that feeling. He's old friends with it.

"I was," he says after a long pause. He doesn't move his head from his arms and his eyes slide closed, as though it's easier to tell his secrets when he isn't looking at TJ. "I was in Glynco. In training. It's standard for returning service members who enter the program. I lied a lot. I didn't think they'd let me stay if they knew about me. I think the guy knew, but I think he thought I'd get shit if it was in the reports too. Art don't care now--branches go from person to person, you know--but Glynco is weird, institutionalized," he speaks that word slowly, careful not to stumble over it. TJ's surprised he could put it to his lips in his state.

"Was that all?"

Tim shakes his head. "When I got here, I knew somethin' was wrong. Training was okay because we were always busy. Here, I had downtime. Lots a time to think. It got rough."

TJ leans his head in his hand. His eyes hurt from held back tears.

"So I went to the VA. It was bad enough I went," Tim says and looks up at TJ. "It helped a little. It's not...I didn't know what to do back then about it. There's stuff I do besides drink, y'know. Today was bad--well, it was weird. I felt it at work. Usually it's after. Today it happened...right after I took the shot." Tim's eyes are open now, but he's looking somewhere into the distance, not at the screen, and he speaks slowly, as though he's only just realizing an important difference.

TJ's about to ask what else he does, when Tim speaks again, saying, "I stopped going 'cause she wanted to talk about how I'm gay."

"Oh," TJ says, dumbly. It's been such a turn around for Tim, and for them both, recently, that TJ feels as though he'd somehow forgotten it was only six months ago he'd told himself he couldn't be with someone like Tim, someone so thoroughly stuck in the closet.

"I couldn't talk about it. I didn't want to think about it. It was all wrapped up in my mother and Deckard and it was all fucked up." Tim lets out a wheezing laugh, raising his brows and quirking a smile that looks more like a grimace. "I mean, it makes sense, huh? That I should talk about it. It just wasn't something I could do." He pauses and looks back at TJ. "Maybe I should now. Maybe I should go back."

TJ can't help it. He beams at him. He puts a hand over his mouth to hide it. It seems so incongruous to the conversation. He says into his fingers, "Baby, I'm so glad you said that."

"I might not mean it," Tim says, closing his eyes again. "M pretty drunk."

"I know, baby," TJ tells him. "But I'll remember you said so and we can talk about it again when you're sober."

"'Kay," Tim replies.

TJ smiles at him and blows him a kiss even though his eyes are closed. He wonders for a moment and asks softly, "Do you see him now?"

Tim shakes his head minutely. "No, I see you," he mumbles. "It's not so hot anymore."

"Love you, Tim," TJ says and here's a weird buzzing noise come over the line. "Baby, I think your food's there. Tim, honey, get up and get the food."

Tim groans and doesn't move.

"Baby, they're gonna leave if you don't answer. You need to eat something, Timmy, come on."

Tim finally pulls himself up and TJ hears him answer the door then close it a moment later. He brings the big plastic bag over to the table and sets it down as he sits again. TJ watches him pull the food out--and shit, JoJo got him a huge spread. It looks like one of those sushi boats all packed up into different containers.

Tim glares at him. "This musta cost you like fifty bucks," he says.

"I couldn't be less concerned," TJ replies airily. He takes a drink from the beer he's let get pretty warm while they were talking and Tim shoots him another glare, though he looks so fuzzy, it barely cuts at all.

"You gonna watch me eat?" he asks.

"I thought I might," TJ shrugs and grins at him.

Tim smiles back.

 

Around 54 hours later, TJ touches down in Lexington.

He spent the night in O'Hare to do it, and he feels really bad for his tiny retinue on account of that, but nobody complained to him and Carter didn't even put his disapproving face on.

"An emergency is an emergency," he'd heard the man say to his two subordinates.

JoJo brought him lattes and played words with friends with him on the plane. Everyone was a fucking champ.

They all travel to the hotel together, booked last minute a little ways out of town and a lot more cheaply than he'd usually go for. With only Carter in tow to let the other two sleep, TJ then takes a cab to Tim's place.

Tim told him a while back where he stashes his spare key, so TJ fishes it out with a pull string from where it was deeply buried in a potted plant--simple, almost unoriginal, in concept, yet elaborate in execution somehow perfectly and hilariously encapsulates Tim. He unlocks the door, lets Carter go in ahead of him and shuts it behind him, pulling out his phone to text Tim, _come home soon_.

Carter parks in the kitchen after looking the place over and TJ drags himself into the bedroom and crawls into Tim's perfectly made bed, where he promptly falls asleep.

Tim is on an assets seizure thing in Conway with Raylan when he gets TJ's text. He stares at it for a full minute before Raylan asks, "What the heck is it, Tim?"

"TJ's here," he says, still looking at his phone. "That has to be what that means."

"What what means?"

Tim shakes his head. "Nevermind. He just didn't say anything."

Tim's been in something like recovery mode in the past few days, trying to do as much as possible at work, then coming home, decompressing with a book for an hour and falling asleep with it propped on his chest.

They hadn't been able to talk all that much. Tim knew it was also because TJ was traveling, but he didn't know it was because he was traveling _here_.

"Surprised you, huh?" Raylan asks with a weird, not quite leering smile.

Tim blinks. "Something like that." When Raylan waits, Tim says, surprised at his own forthcoming, "I had a rough time a few days ago." He can't stop himself from smiling. "He's worried about me."

"He'd be a dick not to be."

"Thank you, Raylan," Tim says dryly.

Raylan winks and turns away. "Thanks already? I didn't even tell you you should go yet."

"What? No way, I can stay, I'll just--"

"Tim," Raylan sighs. "We're almost done. Get the fuck out of here."

Tim goes.

He gets into his apartment to find Carter standing next to his kitchen table, looking like hell. "Hi," Tim says, and Carter just waves him into the bedroom. Tim hopes he'll be relieved soon, but doesn't stick around for chit chat.

He finds TJ passed out in his bed, curled around Tim's pillow, his legs tangled in the blankets, and all his clothes on. Tim can't believe how happy he is to see him, how much lighter he feels.

He sits down at the edge of the bed and reaches out to brush the hair from TJ's face. TJ barely stirs, but his breathing evens out and he uncurls a little. Tim looks down at him and smiles softly. Toeing off his shoes, he climbs in next to TJ, drawing his body, heavy with sleep, into his arms.

TJ stirs then and blinks sleepily and smiles at Tim. "You're here," he murmurs.

"That's my line," Tim says. He touches TJ's cheek and kisses his forehead. TJ presses his face into Tim's shoulder. "Did you crawl through hell to get here, sweetheart? Carter looks like he just came out of the shit."

"Night in O'Hare," TJ says, his words muffled.

"Same difference."

TJ laughs. Tim got what he wanted.

He thinks about telling TJ he didn't have to come. That he was fine now. But he knows, increasingly, that with them it's not about having to anymore. It's about wanting to, needing to. For both of them. TJ's presence here is about what he needs just as much as it is about what Tim needs.

"How long do we have?" He asks.

"Red eye to NYC tonight," TJ almost cries. "I'm so tired."

"Okay," Tim says, stroking his back. "Sleep some more, okay? I'll be here."

"Wake me for dinner?"

"Sure."

"Can we get sushi?"

"Anything you want," Tim says.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I had a shitty bad luck thing happen to me today. I could use some love on this one. Leave it here or on my tumblr. FYI, I post some fic related stuff over there, if you are interested, please do follow. I'm norgbelulah over there.


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another campaign weekend brings some surprises.

TJ wakes slowly, stretching like a cat, and twisting in the mussed up sheets in his boyfriend's bed.

Light from the one small window in the bedroom streams in, warming his face, but making him screw his eyes tightly shut. He sighs as an arm comes around him, warm and strong, then groans when he hears a phone ring.

"''S not mine, is it?" TJ mumbles, turning his face into the pillow.

"Nah," he says, sitting up. TJ draws blind fingers across his broad back, he feels him shiver. He answers the phone in his low, super cute, Kentucky accent, " _Givens_."

God, TJ fucking loves him.

"Okay," Raylan says, sleep still in his voice. "Sure, I'll be down in a minute."

He hangs up, TJ hears the little ping in his phone.

"Who was it?"

"Lindsey from downstairs. The kitchen boy called off and they got a truck waiting outside. She's gonna knock twenty off my tab if I come help unload it." He turns and presses his lips to TJ's exposed neck, making him moan aloud. "And when I say my tab, honey, you know I mean the one you racked up last night."

"I was waiting for you!" TJ protests, playfully pulling away.

Raylan flips him over and TJ looks up at him grinning. His deep brown eyes are shining lighter in the morning sun and he's cocking a superior smirk as he pulls TJ closer by his kicking feet.

TJ pulls himself into Raylan's arms, clinging to him as their lips meet and they kiss deeply. Raylan's hands rise to push TJ's mussed hair away from his face. Their eyes meet for a long time. "Just look at them baby blues," Raylan murmurs.

TJ giggles, blushing. A flirtatious comment about his eyes, that they "could stop traffic" was the first thing Raylan had said to him that day at the school when he was smoking outside the rear doors between speeches.

TJ thought he was making fun of him, got all angry, until something hard but honest moved in the mysterious Marshal's expression and TJ backed off right away, his entire body tingling with an anticipation he'd never felt before.

TJ gets hard just thinking about it.

Raylan kisses him again, laughing. "Not right now, sweet boy," he says. "I gotta work off your debt."

TJ rolls his eyes and flops back down on the bed when Raylan lets him go.

"I can help," he offers idly.

But the hard thing comes into Raylan's voice now as he says, "No. I want you right here waitin' for me."

TJ looks up, knowing that's what Raylan wants, and lets his smile curve into a promise. "All right, Raylan."

"Good," he replies, pulling only his jeans on before he slips out the door and down the stairs.

TJ lays in the bed and waits for him, idly palming his cock, keeping himself ready. He looks around the shabby place, smiling because even though Raylan says he doesn't like it, it's somehow incredibly _him_.

After their first night together, TJ had thought he'd never see Raylan again, but still, he keeps coming back. He tries to get as close to Lexington as possible whenever he can. He's been dropping dates recently. He begged off a campaign stop to be here this time. He thinks his parents are starting to wonder if he's using again.

He smiles. He hasn't told them anything. He likes Raylan being his secret.

He likes waiting for him at the bar, making it a surprise. He likes watching him flirt with the cute bartender he knows he's fucking too. He likes his easy smile. His long fingers. His voice saying--

"You ready for me, kid?"

"Yeah," TJ moans. "Fuck yeah."

"Good boy."

TJ closes his eyes. He _loves_ hearing that, never realized how good it could be--

\--and Tim jerks awake.

"Baby?" TJ's saying softly, but still urgently. TJ's hand is on his arm, shaking him. He's awake isn't he? "Tim, look at me."

Tim turns. TJ's staring at him, concerned, with those wide blue eyes Raylan was just talking about.

"Are you okay?"

Tim blinks at him. He has sweat buckets in the bed and he's hard and hurting and really fucking confused. "F-fucking Raylan," he growls and sits up, dropping his face into his hands. "Fucking. Fuck."

"Tim, what the hell is happening?" TJ asks.

Tim turns and sees him taking in Tim's current particular brand of distress, but also his anger.

"I can--" TJ begins to offer, reaching for him, but Tim shakes his head emphatically.

"Nnn," he grinds out. "Wait." His words come haltingly, his breath heavy. "Don't touch me ri'now. Gimme a second, okay?"

TJ backs off immediately, stuffing his hands inside the hotel sheets.

The hotel, right. In Sacramento.

"Jesus Christ," Tim breathes.

They sit together, motionless, in the muted colors of dawn, while Tim gets himself under control. After a few minutes, Tim grabs TJ's hand and lets himself relax when TJ lifts his free fingers to his shoulder, brushing lightly, then down his back, soothingly.

Except he thinks of TJ's fingers down Raylan's back and he stiffens again.

TJ doesn't move away. "What did you dream, babe?" he asks.

"It's so fucked up," Tim murmurs, staring blankly at the wall. "It felt so real."

"What?"

"I dreamed I was you and you were fucking Raylan Givens," he says and it sounds even more terrible.

His shoulders sag when TJ pulls his hands away from him. He turns again, somehow expecting a whole new level of concentrated horror coming from his boyfriend, only to see TJ pressing both his hands over his mouth, his eyes filled with something like glee, clearly trying not to laugh.

Tim stares at him.

"Really?" TJ busts and then starts giggling.

It's not the shy and boyish laugh he turned to Raylan's compliment in Tim's dream, just a torrent of hilarious laughter, real, sheer amusement.

Tim scowls, starting to feel uncomfortable. "It's not fucking funny."

"That we were fucking Raylan?"

"That _you _were!"__

__"But you were me, right?" TJ's still laughing. "Oh, baby, I'm sorry. But that's just _great_."_ _

__"No it isn't," Tim insists. "It was crazy weird. You were _so_ into it."_ _

__TJ gives him an indulgent look, finally putting his warm hands back on Tim. "You know, some boyfriends--not me, clearly--would take that as evidence of how into him you are."_ _

__"I-I'm not!" Tim sputters. He's staring at TJ with what must be dawning horror, because TJ's smile grows wider and even more indulgent as he leans in his kiss Tim's cheek._ _

__"Of course not," he says._ _

__Tim shakes his head. "Really."_ _

__TJ slides his hand down Tim's front, settling his palm and fingers around Tim's slowly softening cock. "Suit yourself. But do you really want to let this raging hard on go to waste?" TJ asks lustily._ _

__Tim groans and pulls TJ into his lap. "No," he mumbles petulantly into TJ's neck._ _

__He feels TJ's laugh before they kiss, long and sweet. TJ smiles into Tim's lips and ask softly, "What did Raylan say to me?"_ _

___Good boy_ _ _

__Tim shivers. "Oh, no," he says. "We're not role-playing my weird and disturbing dream during sex."_ _

__"It was a sex dream, Tim," TJ replies, confused._ _

__"He's my _coworker_ , TJ."_ _

__TJ peers at him, sitting back. "Are you really only weirded out because it was Raylan?" he asks._ _

__Tim sighs. That was a bit too on the nose. "I don't wanna talk about it, sweetheart," he pleads. "What about my raging hard on?"_ _

__And TJ relents._ _

__Tim comes with TJ's name on his lips and TJ's toothy smile imprinted on his retinas. They go again and get off together, with only groans and grunts, and sighs between them._ _

__After, TJ draws circles on Tim's cooling skin. He looks thoughtful. "You aren't worried I'm really into that guy, are you?" he asks._ _

__Tim makes a face, twisting his mouth in a way that he knows gives him away._ _

__"You dummy," he says fondly._ _

__"You asked." Tim hides his face in the pillow, but TJ touches his cheek and doesn't let him look away. Tim shrugs. "He was nice to you and he's all tall and handsome and he's such an asshole--"_ _

__"You think I like assholes?"_ _

__"You like me."_ _

__TJ huffs. "Tim, when have you ever been an asshole to _me_?"_ _

__"But Raylan wasn't one to you either!"_ _

__"Baby, stop that," TJ chastises. "Sure, I like Raylan. Maybe, if we weren't dating, I'd think a lot harder about going to bed with him. But I don't want to be with anybody but you--and anyway, isn't he straight?"_ _

__Tim presses his forehead into TJ's shoulder. "I'm not entirely sure. He was surprisingly cool about me, considering where he comes from. And he's got this weird flirty/antagonistic thing going on with this old friend of his."_ _

__"Oooh," TJ says, climbing into Tim's lap again, "can we role play _that_?"_ _

__They don't have time to though, and Tim is incredibly relieved not to have to answer the question, because Johanna knocks on their door._ _

__"Time to get ready, boys!" She calls through the door. "Big day! Speeches! Cold salads! Chilled wine!"_ _

__"Coming!" TJ yells back, giving Tim a big kiss before he hops in the shower._ _

__Tim lies back on the bed, still feeling strangely drained, and not only from coming twice in a hour._ _

__

__As he’s pulling on his clothes, a crisp, light button down and grey suit pants, Tim’s phone rings, the screen showing an unfamiliar number. TJ looks at him quizzically, but he shrugs and answers it, “This is Deputy Gutterson.”_ _

__TJ’s look morphs into something heated and Tim rolls his eyes._ _

__“Tim?” a hesitant female voice says over the line. For a moment, Tim thinks it’s his mother again, somehow calling from a different number, until she says, “Hi. It’s Angie.”_ _

__“Uh. Angie,” Tim says dumbly. “Wow.” Angie has never called him before. He actually thinks this is the first time they’ve ever spoken on the phone. Tim hasn’t had contact with his sister in over twenty years._ _

__“Yeah,” she says, still uncertain. “You might wonder why I’m calling now. I mean, it’s perfectly reasonable to think something like, ‘oh, she saw me on Gawker with my famous and seriously cute boyfriend and now she wants some of this crazy political clout or kept boy money she totally assumes that I have.’ Which is categorically not true, kid. Really. I would never think such a thing, but I mean, how would you know, right? We haven’t spoken in so long and--”_ _

__Tim’s head is spinning, but he realizes probably much too slowly, that she’s not going to stop unless he interrupts her. “Angie. Angie,” he breaks in. “Wait. I didn’t think that.”_ _

__Tim hears her take a breath. There’s a broad smile in her voice as she says, “Well, that’s a load off my mind. Okay, so really, I’m calling because I heard from Mom a few weeks back and I’ve been really worried about the bullshit it sounded like she was spewing all over you and that sweet boy who, by the way, looks at you in those pictures like you lassoed the moon for him. And anyway, I saw--also on Gawker--that you were going to be on my coast this weekend, so I called to see if you maybe wanted to…” and it’s here she finally slows down. “Um. Meet me--I can come to you! It’s not a crazy drive from Berkeley.”_ _

__Tim finds himself smiling. “That-that would be great, Angie. But, uh, how did you get my number?”_ _

__She laughs, it’s a slow, jovial cackle and suddenly Tim can’t wait to see her. “I told mom I would talk some sense into you. Don’t worry though. Most of my friends and acquaintances would say I haven’t got any.”_ _

__There’s a knock on the door again and Tim looks at TJ, who’s got wide, expectant eyes and his own smile forming. He steps out quickly and says, “Hold your horses, JoJo, Tim’s on an important call.”_ _

__“Oh,” Angie says, sounding worried and slightly disappointed, “you must be so busy, though. And here I am thinking you’ll have time to--”_ _

__“Don’t even, Ang.” Tim surprises himself by using his old, even shorter, nickname for her from when they were kids. “I can guarantee you there isn’t anything I would like more. I think today might be bad, but there’s definitely time before my flight back tomorrow. Let’s have lunch.”_ _

__“And you’ll bring your boy?”_ _

__She sounds so pleased by the idea that Tim starts to feel himself get emotional. There’s a hot lump in his throat, choking him as he says, “If you want.”_ _

__“Kid,” she says, and he’s taken back to summers in the backyard, her making up games out of doing the yardwork, telling him they were almost done and that there was lemonade in the fridge. “I can’t fucking wait.”_ _

__“Meet us at the hotel when you get in,” he says, his eyes blinking fast as he gazes at the Hyatt stationary. He gives her the address and says a hasty goodbye at the sound of a quiet knock on the door._ _

__TJ slips back inside as Tim hangs up the phone. He makes a pathetically wet sound and TJ wraps his arms around him._ _

__“She’s going to come?”_ _

__“Yeah,” Tim says, wiping at his face. “She really wants to meet you.”_ _

__TJ beams. His knock-down, drag-out, big-as-fuck smile. “Yay!” He cries and Tim kisses him, hard._ _

__

__The event they are going to is hosted by a coalition of legislative caucuses, the black, women’s, and LGBT caucuses specifically, aimed at promoting diverse interests across the state._ _

__Tim only knows that because so far everyone who’s spoken to the crowd at the small winery where they’ve gathered has said as much. TJ hadn’t said anything in warning to Tim, and he wonders if TJ knew before. He also wonders if the specific set that’s gathered here is going to be more interested in asking Tim questions than any other event he’s been to before._ _

__He doesn’t consider himself an expert. He wonders if people will see him that way since he and TJ have been so publicly together for nearly six months now. He finds himself nervous at the prospect._ _

__When the speeches are over, TJ plucks two wine glasses off a server’s tray and hands on to Tim, who takes it gratefully. He looks gorgeous as the bright, slightly over-warm, sun of the afternoon is reflected by his ivory linen button down shirt and powder blue skinny jeans. TJ raises his pair of expensive-looking Ray-Bans up into his hair for a moment to make sure Tim can see his delicately raised brows._ _

__“Everything okay?” he asks._ _

__Tim shrugs. “Do you think they’ll want to talk to me?” he asks, then sort of hates himself. What the hell is he doing here if he doesn’t want to talk to people?_ _

__TJ smiles, lowering his glasses, looking cool as fuck. “Just stick with me, baby. I’ll charm the pants off them all.”_ _

__Tim blinks, adjusting his own sunglasses, a pair of aviators TJ insisted that he wear so that he wouldn’t “scare away the ladies with unfriendly squinting,” and smiles ruefully._ _

__He doesn’t doubt it._ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the fake out at the beginning there!
> 
> I'm curious about what you guys think...
> 
> Also, sorry about the long delay. Thanks for sticking with me! Leave feedback here or at this handle on tumblr.


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there is more fun in Sacramento. Well, there's an incident and an Angie.

The party is in full swing by dusk and Tim is pretty sure it's donors now too, not just legislators and their staff. It's turned into an outdoor barbeque and Tim is standing in a buffet line to get another rack of ribs when he's approached from behind.

"Mr. Gutterson?" 

He turns to see a short woman with brown, straightened hair, pulled into a professional half-ponytail, looking at him with piercing blue eyes and something clearly on her mind.

"Hi," he says. He's a little uncertain as to how she knows him. "Were we introduced earlier?" he asks, then wonders if that's a faux pas for a crowd like this.

"No," she answers, not seeming upset. "I work for Representative Clara. I was wondering if I could ask you a few questions." She smiles, wide and pretty. It's a smile he thinks she might put on when she wants to charm a man. He wonders if she's not sure it will work.

"About what?" he asks, stepping forward in the line. He's not sure if he should ask her again how she knows who he is.

"I was wondering, purely for demographic and diversity reasons, if you've found any difficulty being out in your profession. Like, if for instance, you've been made to feel uncomfortable, or unwelcome? Did you have any trouble with placement? You're in Kentucky, aren't you?" 

She's the type that speaks fast. Tim's still trying to figure out how, or even if, he should answer her first question and she's already asked five more.

"My profession?" He ends up blurting.

"You're a U.S. Marshal, aren't you?" Her eyes are wide now, as if she's just realized she might have made a miscalculation of some kind. And suddenly, he knows. He knows how she knows him, how she knows his name and what he does for a living, even though he wasn't introduced to the crowd at large, or even specifically to the Representative she'd mentioned.

She reads the tabloids.

"Yes," he says.

She heaves a sigh of relief and he gives her a cool, knowing look. She has the grace to look embarrassed, but she doesn't apologize, nor does she speak again. She's waiting for an answer.

"Well, miss," he says and also realizes she hasn't given him a first name. 

He huffs, annoyed, but doesn't ask her, as he thinks she's being unbelievably rude anyway and doesn't particularly want to know her name. He scans the crowd for TJ, who he unwisely left near the bar on his quest for this food for them to share. He's next in line and also doesn't particularly want to share whatever answer he's going to pull out of his ass with the carver at the buffet table, either.

She steps out of line, infuriatingly having only been there to talk to him in the first place and so does he, once he requests two racks instead of one. He's working up an appetite, here.

"Well," he says again. "As you're aware, I'm an employee of the federal government. President Barrish has been working very diligently to push anti-discrimination laws for LGBTQ employees of agencies and contractors through congress. Discrimination is clearly frowned upon by this administration and--"

"Yes, but have _you_ , as an out gay man been discriminated against in the Marshals?" She looks annoyed with him now.

Tim becomes, in a rush from somewhere in his chest and moving fast up to his hairline, incredibly pissed. "Look," he snaps, "I wasn't an out gay man until about six months ago, lady. It's was the scariest fucking thing I ever did coming out in that environment. What do you think? That I applied and wrote 'GAY' all over my application? That I was out in the _Army_ five years ago? I've been incredibly lucky to not have been discriminated against after coming out, but I'm not by any means unscarred by my fucking experiences. Get off my goddamn back, okay?"

He turn and stalks away, noticing as he crosses the open dance floor where people are more mingling than dancing, that TJ has sat at a high seated table just off from the bar. Tim goes to him and sets down the plate, rubbing at his eyes as soon as his hands are both free.

"Hey," TJ says, his sunglasses perched on his head in the waning daylight and dim halogen lantern light. "Everything okay?"

Tim almost can't look at him and really doesn't know what expression is on his face. "Um," he says. His mind is racing. He might have seriously fucked that up. He makes himself look TJ in the eye. "I'm going to tell you. Just...I'm gonna go talk to Dougie. First."

"What?" TJ calls to his back as Tim turns away again, searching the crowd for TJ's brother.

He finds him talking in a quiet corner with the President and another campaign person Tim can't remember at the moment if he's ever been introduced to. He approaches them nervously and it's Elaine who sees him first.

"Timmy, darling," she says, smiling, until she notices the look on his face. "Is everything all right?"

He gets close enough to her that she reaches out to him and he thinks for a moment she might take a step forward and touch the back of his neck or his face. He must look a little spooked at that--it's not that he doesn't want it, he thinks he might start crying if she did and he’d fucked something up--but she drops her hand to her side.

"I just," he says and licks his lips before he turns to Douglas. "Can I have a word with you?"

"Of course," Dougie says.

Elaine looks carefully between them, then scans the crowd behind Tim's back. "I'll just go have a word with the committee chair. I know he was trying to flag me down earlier." She straightens her shoulders and walks forward, pausing only long enough to give Tim a brief pat on the arm.

Dougie raises his eyebrows. "What's up?" he asks. He's making the exact same expression TJ does when he's trying not to show he's worried.

Tim grimaces. "I think I might have really fucked something up," he says quietly.

Dougie leans his head forward, a small smile of reassurance quirks his lips. "I guarantee that you haven't, but you better tell me what happened anyway."

Tim goes through the conversation he’d just had, biting his lip as he says, "And then I kind of lost my temper."

"You didn't hit her, did you?"

Tim chokes back a bitter laugh. "I think you would have heard about that by now." He sighs. "I just...might have told her I wasn't out until six months ago and like, inferred that being gay in the army was a horrific nightmare?"

"Did you use those words?"

"Horrific nightmare?"

"Yeah."

Tim shakes his head. "No, it was um," Tim closes his eyes, trying to remember exactly what he'd said, "I was lucky to not have been discriminated against, but that I'm not by any means unscarred by my fucking experiences." He looks back at Dougie anxiously.

Dougie's eyes are holding back a storm of anger. "She really pissed you off, huh?"

The nervous knot that is working itself tighter inside Tim's stomach, jumps then plummets low in his gut. "Yeah," he says weakly.

Dougie smiles grimly. "Good. Me too." He shakes his head. "This is unacceptable."

"I'm so sorry," Tim begins, but Dougie steps forward, grabbing at his arm, cutting him off. "Tim, you didn't do anything wrong. If it was me, or hell, thank God she didn't talk to TJ, she really might have gotten hit, or at least threatened with bodily harm. And if Mom had heard that conversation--Jesus."

Dougie reaches forward and straightens Tim's hastily rumpled shirt at the shoulders, patting him warmly. Tim's seen him do this to TJ. It's almost a fatherly gesture, one that reveals, despite his place as younger brother, his tendency to nurture and protect. He's a lot like his mother.

"Look, just because we're high profile doesn't mean any goddamn data analyst in the country is allowed to pick our brains on personal shit. Even if it's about issues that are important to us. It's just not done. And it's certainly not done to the newest member of our family."

Tim knows his eyes are bugging out at Dougie.

He smiles. "Don't give me that look. We know you're here to stay."

Tim wonders if TJ knows. If Tim, himself, knows. He'd like it to be true. But is it?

"Thanks," he says.

Dougie's smile widens. "Your instincts are right that the information you gave her could be used against the family or against you in the future. I'm not going to discourage you from being open about your life and your experiences, but I'd appreciate a consult before you ever say anything official about being gay in conjunction with being a federal employee--"

"Of course," Tim agrees.

"Now, I'm going to go find that woman and threaten to sic the President on her," Dougie says, stepping away with a wink. He pauses, as he turns, and adds, "And thanks for coming to me and not Mom. I would have feared for this idiot's life."

Tim takes a moment to find his bearings after Dougie walks away, he's about to go find TJ when he sees him coming across the dance floor, looking worried.

"Dougie's got his mission face on," TJ says as he reaches Tim. "What happened?"

Tim tells him. He gets to the part where the woman asked him again before TJ interrupts him. "Motherfucker," he spits. "Where is she?"

Tim pulls him close by his fisted hands. "Dougie's on a mission, remember?" Tim says. 

TJ cranes his neck towards the crowd, but Tim catches either side of his face. "You're so sweet. But, seriously, let him handle it."

"She doesn't get to ask us shit like that," TJ insists angrily.

"Dougie told me. He's going to tell her that, okay? She probably just didn't know," Tim replies calmly. "You know, I thought I seriously fucked that whole thing up."

TJ glares. Tim knows it's not at him. "Did you hit her?"

Tim laughs. "You Hammonds are a violent bunch," he says, pretty sure neither Dougie nor TJ really would have hit that poor girl.

TJ kisses him. "Only when we're threatened," he murmurs.

 

The morning after the diversity party, TJ feels Tim wake early, shift restlessly, and leave the bed. He comes back a moment later with a glass of water.

"Can't sleep?" TJ mumbles, not having that problem.

Tim slides his fingers through TJ's hair and he drifts for a moment, until Tim says, "She left when I was eight. I was alone in that house for ten years. She never called."

TJ turns, his head pillowed in his arm, his stomach flat on the mattress. Tim is sitting up next to him. "She called now."

"Yeah," Tim says. "Yeah, she did. But...why bother at this point?"

"You don' want her to?" TJ asks, unable to get the sleep out of his mouth.

"No, I do. I'm just...nervous." He strokes TJ's hair some more. "She sounded...so different."

"Bad?"

"No, really really good."

TJ blinks again. Tim's hand isn't ceasing and it feels so nice, but it's early too. His body wants to sleep. "Gotta quit that if we're gonna talk anymore," he says, shifting his pillow.

"Go back to sleep, sweetheart," Tim tells him. "I'm okay."

TJ slips away.

They spend breakfast with the family. This hotel actually serves breakfast, rather than just offering a buffet and TJ is greatly enjoying his french toast as Mama falls down the rabbit hole of interrogation with Tim.

She's already double checked he hasn't spoken with his mother since her visit to Lexington. She looks pretty fierce about that and Tim, instead of being insulted or angered, just looks sort of shyly pleased and responds, "No, Ma'am. I haven't heard from her."

TJ's noticed Mama hasn't corrected Tim's using the honorific on her ever since the day Suzanne Gutterson was in town and he nearly called her Mama too in front of a large table of people. TJ likes to think they both know what he's really saying, though neither of them would probably ever admit it.

"And you're sure she's not coming to preach all your mother's nonsense again?"

Unfortunately, Mama had pried a lot of what went on during the conversation Tim and TJ had had with Suzanne out of him. Tim seems weirdly cool about that too. Almost like he'd really wanted her to know anyway. 

She pats his hand and TJ smiles into his breakfast as Tim says, "She would never, Ma'am. I swear to you."

Mama's frowning at him. "Darling, hasn't it been twenty years?"

Tim shrugs. "More than that. Honestly, though, I can better imagine her...becoming President of the United States than turning Fundamentalist Christian."

Mama laughs. "Is it so hard to believe?"

"For Angie it is," he replies with a smile, then paused. "Well, for her at eighteen, anyway. I-I have no idea what she's like now."

TJ squeezes Tim's shoulder. Tim cast him a small smile in return as TJ says, "You know what she was like on the phone, though."

Tim's smile widens now, as he remembers. "She was nervous. She was talking really fast. She used to do that when she was on the phone with boys." He laughed softly and twined his hand with TJ's--the one he wasn't using to finish off his breakfast. "She used to make these ridiculously dry jokes to them and then laugh and say, 'I'm just kidding!'"

"Well, that doesn't sound familiar at all," TJ mumbles, smirking at his plate. Tim nudges him with his shoulder and Mama looks momentarily confused.

"Well, I'm sure it will go fine," she says, patting Tim's hand again, the one that's now holding TJ's. She smiles, beatifically, at their clasped fingers. "I only wish we could stay."

TJ looks up, over-earnestly, at her and says in solemn tones, "No, Mother. The people of Spokane _need_ you to tell them your vision for the economy. You _must_ go, and quickly. Before it's too late."

She settles a withering look on him, but he only grins at her as she says, "That's not any more funny now than it was when you were thirteen, mister."

"I think it might be," TJ tells her. "It's no longer a thinly veiled attempt to tell you how badly I don't want you to go, right?"

She pats him on the head. "Says you," she says and gives them both big hugs before she leaves the restaurant, heading for the elevator, her retinue spreading out behind her.

TJ and Tim linger at the table, not saying much. TJ tries to infuse the looks he sends his boyfriend's way with reassurance and trust, and a little bit of anticipation--maybe more than a little. He's pretty excited to meet Angie, who sounded like a riot from what he could hear when Tim was on the phone.

They go back up to the room, having eaten all the food and exhausted all conversation, and TJ convinces Tim to mess around. He's clearly distracted though, and not into making out, so TJ pushes him down on the bed and gets on his knees.

He's in the middle of it, just opening his throat to fully take Tim in that he hears the familiar buzz of a text message being received. Tim, who had been moaning TJ's name, tenses and breathes out, "Shit. Shit shit."

TJ rubs his hands up and down Tim's thighs soothingly, but is still forced to pull off and say breathlessly, "Relax baby. Let me finish. You'll feel so much better."

"She's here."

"Maybe not. If she is, she can wait." He cups Tim's balls, rolling them lightly and they shrink in his hands. "Let me take care of you, babe," he says and swallows him down again.

It really doesn't take long.

 

It's easy to spot her in the lobby--Angie, Tim's older sister--since TJ knows Tim so well and has met their mother.

Angie looks like Tim mostly in the face, though she has more of her mother's nose and less of her mouth, which, as far as TJ knows, always looks pinched and unhappy. She's got a pile of unruly blonde curls that fall past her shoulders, the kind that are completely natural and hard to control, and are tied back from her forehead in a colorful, yet earth-toned, scarf. 

She's wearing a long skirt, the kind that you sort of expect a woman in her late forties driving in from Berkley to wear. Her eyes light up when she sees Tim and TJ.

"Oh my God, hi!" She shouts from across the room.

Tim's face breaks into a wide, delighted grin.

She hurries over to them on birkenstocked feet, doing a little half-jog, half-walk thing that has TJ utterly charmed. She stops short as she reaches them and her eyes roam, betraying no small sadness, despite her smile, over Tim's face. She reaches out and touches his cheeks with both hands.

TJ thought he might flinch away, but he doesn't and her palms open across his skin. She pats him softly and beams, as one big, wet, tear rolls down her own cheek.

"Oh, what a mess," she murmurs.

Tim's choked laugh sounds thick and he says, "Yeah," before pulling her into a hug.

"I never meant to leave it so long," she says into his shoulder. Her eyes lift to TJ's and his breath is caught by the guilt there.

"That's okay," Tim says. Of course he does. "I could--I should have--"

She pulls away from him then and swats him on the shoulder. "Shut up!" She cries. "What were you going to do? I'm the big sister." Her eyes widen then and she pats him almost absently where she'd struck him, her eyes fixed on his face, red with emotion. "Kid, if I'd known what she was going to pull with that stuff...I should have come back when Dad--"

Tim shakes his head. "I was already in the Army by then."

She frowns at him. "Right," she says, like she'd forgotten. "Right. Mom didn't mention it until--" She stops and sighs. "Motherfucker, that woman. Tim," she cries, like the words she's about to say are being torn from her lips. "She never told me. It's no excuse but--"

All the blood drains from Tim's face. "What do you mean?"

"Well, I wasn't in contact with her when you came out," she says. Her eyes are still wide and guilty.

"Yeah, I know that," Tim replies, almost impatient. "She said she finally got someone to track you down when he died."

"Right, but she said you were fine then. I mean--of course you were fine but--"

"I kind of wasn't," he interjects and she starts to wring her hands.

TJ really wants to tell them they could go to the restaurant he'd picked for them--a really nice bistro with a patio and infused vodka punches--instead of hashing things out in the middle of a hotel lobby. But he finds he can't. He can't even touch Tim in that moment. He feels so outside what's happening, it's almost like watching a movie.

"Well, shit. I mean, I didn't _know_. Gamma told me before I left that you were going to need me, but I didn't listen--of course I fucking didn't. And I wanted to be off the phone with her _so badly_ and get fucking high again so I didn't have to think about--" she closes her eyes and takes a breath, only opening them again as she concludes, "That day, she said you were about to leave for Basic, not that you joined the day after graduation. She said you were leaving behind a girlfriend, not that you came out and he hit you and she let him. She didn't tell me any of that until last week."

"Jesus Christ," Tim blows out in a breath.

"Couldn't confess to her priest, I guess," TJ grumbles bitterly.

Angie's eyes dart to him and TJ almost tries to take it back. Shit, it's not his mother they're talking about. But she smirks at him, and says, "I guess not. It's lovely to meet you. Can I call you TJ?"

Tim smiles. "He only lets his mom call him anything else."

TJ blushes and says, "That's not true. I let you call me a lot of things, dummy."

Angie laughs. It's over-loud, ringing through the otherwise hushed lobby and echoing up to the vaulted ceiling. It's sort of bark-like, but brassy and fun. TJ bites his lip through a smile and she reaches out and pulls him into a hug.

"You're wonderful," she says, her hands lingering on his shoulders. "Where is the food?"

TJ smiles. "It's only a few blocks away," he says.

 

Once they settle in at the inevitably gorgeous high-end place TJ picked for them, Angie gives Tim a look like she used to give her friends on the bus to school, when she'd make them dish on all their other friends. But he smiles right back, too slyly, and says, "No way. I'm not talking any more until you tell me about yourself. You've already got all my dirt. It's all over the internet!"

TJ snorts. "Don't tempt fate, baby. You really don't want the actual dirt out there."

Tim gives TJ a significant look. "Sweetheart, can you please just make it seem like we're not that interesting so that Angie will talk about her life?"

"Quiet, I want to hear Meet the Press," TJ replies with a wink, looking in the direction of the TV over the bar.

It's Tim's turn to snort.

"You boys are adorable," Angie says beaming. "And anyway, what's to know? I'm sure mom's told you--" She breaks off at the blank look on Tim's face, casting a glance to the TJ's darkening expression before looking back at Tim and adding, "Oh, God, she doesn't talk to you at all does she?"

"She talks to you?" There was something cold in Tim's stomach and TJ was grinding his teeth.

"Like, about the basics," Angie says frowning. "I know where you are. I know what you do for a living. I talk to her on holidays. I always make sure to call, so like, she knows I haven't died."

"Feds would call her if I died," Tim mumbles. 

TJ swats him on the arm. "Don't talk about shit like that around me," he hisses, still clearly upset for him.

"Anyway, she calls me and she asks me about girls and I get off the phone before she can say anything else. She never... I would have stayed on if I knew she was in touch with you." Tim feels terrible. They lost all this time. If he'd been able to stay on the phone with his goddamned mother for more than five minutes, they could have--

"Stop, kid. Calm down. I totally understand. This is her fault not yours," Angie says in an even quiet tone. She lays her hands, both of them, over Tim's on the table. TJ's gripping his elbow. 

"I live in Berkeley," she says offering a smile, "as you might have figured. I own an organic pet food store and I have two standard poodles who I treat like the children I have decided will never bear. I'm a walking, talking cliche and I love it." She's gripping Tim's hands pretty hard now, but he doesn't want her to stop. "I have a boyfriend. His name is Gordon. He's five years younger than me, but fifteen pounds overweight, so I tell people it evens out. Mom thinks Gordon and I are married, but fuck her, because I didn't actually tell her that. I did a ton of coke and a little meth until about ten years ago, now I drink too much wine and smoke one cigarette a day. I may have been a stripper for a little while."

Tim and TJ were staring at her.

Tim swallows and speaks, thinking he might as well if they're sharing secrets like this, "I joined the Army because I thought I'd get killed eventually. Instead they made me kill a bunch of people because I'm really, really good at shooting shit. I was pretty fucked up about Dad and Mom and, surprise, the Army didn't help that at all. I'm doing okay now," he says, glancing at TJ, "but things were bad. They're getting better."

The waiter coughs discreetly and TJ heaves a held breath. "Holy shit, you guys are intense."

They haven't even looked at the menu yet. The waiter says he'll be back and practically sprints away from the table.

"Fuck me, kid," Angie cries and starts to laugh. "Let me tell you about my dogs, okay?"

Tim grins. "Yeah, let's do that for a while."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I AM SO SORRY. I can't promise not to not post for another month in the future, but I can promise that I'll feel SO BAD if I do. I got bogged down in work, friends, and an original story or two. Not sure how back I am, but I'm not abandoning this story. I also promise to reply to all your wonderful comments. Please keep them coming! -M


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which things are hard for Tim and TJ. Also, Tim makes a friend and Raylan shows up.

Tim makes Christmas plans with Angie in Lexington. Well, week before Christmas plans, because traveling from California to anywhere around the holidays is insane. Then she gives both Tim and TJ three very long, very hard hugs, laughing loudly in their ears the whole time, and sends them back up to their hotel room with an obvious wink and two ridiculously sexual hand gestures.

Tim promises to call her the next week and visit in the spring.

He and TJ fuck and nap all afternoon then drive to the airport together. They’re quiet and TJ looks unhappy, his eyes glued out the window. They haven’t been able to figure out when they can see each other again. 

“We’ll have the phone,” Tim points out, trying to catch TJ’s eye.

“I _know_ ,” TJ says, in a frankly petulant tone, and Tim resolves not to say anything else if that’s how he’s going to be. Neither of them speak again until the tarmac is in sight from the highway. “I’m just tired of all the traveling,” TJ says suddenly. 

Tim notes he doesn’t apologize, then immediately juts his jaw, angry at himself for the petty thought.

TJ turns to him now. “Not to see you, baby. Never that. But...November is so fucking far away. And the speaking engagements are just a nuisance now. They take me away from you.” He’s jetting off to Missouri for another one, for some camp since it’s the summer time. Tim would have driven to see him, but he just took the weekend for Sacramento and Art’s probably about to kill him for being gone so much.

Tim doesn’t have any easy answers, and he knows TJ knows that. He only takes his hand and says, “Sweetheart, I love you. And I know we’re going to be okay."

TJ gives him a weak smile and squeezes his hand.

"I'll try to talk to Art--"

"No, I should be able to come see you more. I'll... I'll quit the motivational speaking. I'm tired of it anyway."

Tim frowns. The car has pulled up to the curb at the departure gates. The secret service agents are moving around the vehicle. Tim doesn’t want to start a fight, but he licks his lips and says, “I thought it was important to your family that you work?”

TJ scowls at him. It overtakes his whole face, darkening it like storm clouds. He shakes his head slowly. “Don’t, Tim,” he replies carefully. “Don’t do that. _You_ are important to _me_ , okay? What the campaign wants shouldn’t be any concern of yours and it’s like coming down to last on my list right now. Jesus,” he hisses, crossing his arms.

Tim juts his jaw again. “I think it’s important to your _family_ , not just to the campaign, TJ. And it’s important to me. Sweetheart, please don’t try to make me your whole life. I don’t--it’s not healthy. It wouldn’t be good.”

TJ would get bored. And then he’d make bad decisions. They’d talked about this before.

TJ pulls hard on the handle and shoves the car door open, swiftly stepping out and into the California sun. He looks murderous. Tim chases after him. 

“I wasn’t fucking going to,” TJ hisses at Tim from behind the trunk. Tim resolves not to glance aside to see where the agents are. He knows they won’t say anything and TJ would only be more angry. “You think I don’t think I need a job? Ugh,” he cries, pulling his suitcase from the back of the car. Usually the agents would help, or they’d call someone over, but TJ just does it and it’s obvious no one wants to ask him if he needs any assistance. Tim pulls his own bag from the back. “I guess it doesn’t matter anyway. I won’t fucking do it because you clearly don’t want me around you--”

“TJ,” Tim breaks in with a tone like a whip crack. TJ looks at him, still scowling, but he waits for Tim to say, “We can fight about this. It’s probably good that we do. But don’t start putting words in my mouth, especially when you know they’re goddamn lies.”

“Don’t fucking tell me what’s healthy. I was okay before you, Tim. I was doing all right.”

“I know that,” Tim says. He really wants to touch TJ, but he thinks it wouldn’t be welcome. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed I knew what you were thinking, but, sweetheart, please don’t change your life for me. Quit if you don’t want to do it anymore, God fucking knows I’d hate being on planes as much as you are, and all the other bullshit that goes with it. But don’t--I’m so serious right now--don’t quit just for me.”

TJ’s scowl breaks apart into a look of such frustrated sadness Tim can’t help but step forward and pull him into his arms. “Everything sucks when you’re not here,” TJ says into his shoulder. 

Tim knows the feeling.

After they put their luggage onto the cart, Tim pulls TJ inside and off to a bench just inside the door. TJ’s already looked for people with cameras, and though there doesn’t seem to be any around, they don’t touch each other as they talk.

“Maybe we have to make some changes--little ones,” Tim says. “So that things don’t suck so much when we’re not together.”

TJ pouts--Tim doesn’t think he realizes he’s doing it--and tilts his head. “Like what?”

Tim takes a breath and says, “Well, maybe I’ll go to the roadhouse more often. Maybe I’ll try to get out more.” He made half a friend on Grinder too, one he didn’t bothering mentioning to TJ. He works in the courthouse so approaching him in real life might be awkward, but his profile says he’s in a relationship and is just looking for a lunch buddy. His name is Chris. Tim’s not sure where he works.

“I need more friends,” he says.

TJ takes a breath as well. “Yeah, me too,” he replies, then smiles softly. “Let’s work on that. Like book club.”

Tim grins. “Friend club?”

“BOYFRIEND friend club,” TJ says, snorting.

The flight back still feels lonely, but they talk again as soon as they land.

 

A month later, Tim meets Chris for lunch at a dinner up the street from the courthouse. This is the third time they’ve done this. Tim and Chris and Chris’ partner, Shawn, have met for drinks at the roadhouse once the previous week.

Chris works in an office upstairs from Tim. He’s not clear on what the guy actually does, but not comfortable enough as friends to ask again. He’s got a long face and non-descript brown eyes, but a killer smile when he bothers to show it to people. He’s definitely not out at work because his boss is a jesus-freak and he needs to pay the bills.

He smiles at Tim over his turkey wrap. “Looking forward to the weekend?”

Tim had told Chris and Shawn about his plans to fly to New York City with TJ to see a play and meet an old friend of his. They both knew already about Tim and his love life, nearly everyone did by now in all State and City government offices. Chris was really cool about it and didn’t say anything until Tim brought it up himself. Of course, then, he’d smirked for an hour and wanted all the details Tim could think of. Sadly for Chris, he’d been unable to answer anything that even remotely sounded like, “What was she wearing?”

Tim nods through a bite of his burger.

Chris nods approvingly then adds, “Make sure he takes you to Top Shop. Everyone can tell you buy your shirts at Walmart.”

Tim raises his brows. “Who is everyone?” he asked. “Just you and Shawn?”

Shawn is a part-time fashion blogger on one of those big conglomerate sites, the ones trying and failing to actually be Gawker. He also works in the public library downtown.

“And Avery,” Chris replied. Lexington is such a small town, Avery, Pappy’s Avery of the Roadhouse is actually a good friend of Shawn’s. Tim had met him at his father’s bar the previous week. No one said anything about magazine photos, thank God. “He can tell too.”

“I buy my shirts at Target,” Tim says stiffly. Chris just sniffs. “And TJ doesn’t care where I shop.”

“He’s blinded by his love for you.”

“You haven’t even met him yet.”

“I see the pictures, my friend. That man loves the fucking hell out of you.” He takes a bite of his cooling fries thoughtfully. “It would be understandable,” he says, smiling wickedly. “If he took you to Top Shop.”

“Shut the hell up, man,” Tim laughs.

The door to the diner opens behind their table and Tim looks up to see Raylan walking in. There’s a bag at the counter Tim assumes to be his take-out order. He sees Tim and Chris and saunters right over, ignoring the girl who came up to the register to help him.

Tim sighs, hopefully inaudibly, and puts on a friendly smile, for Chris’ benefit more than anything.

“Hey Tim,” Raylan says.

“Raylan,” Tim replies. “You just back from somewhere? I didn’t see you in the office this morning.”

“Back from Harlan,” he says and Chris shifts, surprised. “No shoot outs this time,” Raylan assures them both with his hands raised, almost mockingly. “Just gettin’ some information out of some people.”

Tim smirks. “With your fists?”

“You’ll have to read the report, son.” Raylan’s been doing that lately, calling Tim things that aren’t his name. He doesn’t really want to like it. He thinks it’s because of what TJ told him about his mother. He sort of hates that he likes it. Also, it feels weird since he had that fucking dream.

Tim blinks and turns to Chris, pretty sure the pause wasn’t long enough to be awkward or rude, and says, “Chris, this is Raylan Givens, a fellow Marshal. Raylan, Chris Moore. He works...in the courthouse.”

Chris laughs. “You forgot, didn’t you? Or you weren’t listening.” He turns to Raylan, looking him up and down. Tim feels Raylan noting the interest, probably basking in the implied praise. “Good to meet you, Raylan. I’m in the County Clerk’s office.”

“Likewise, Chris,” Raylan says taking his hand in a firm grip. “Well, Art is gonna skin me, because I was supposed to be back like an hour ago. You have fun now, and Tim?”

Tim looks at him, brows raised.

“I’m taking on call this weekend because I love your fucking boyfriend and the universe gave him a lot of shit before she gave him you, so...just keep that in mind when I come asking for favors in...maybe two weeks?”

Shit. “In Harlan? Raylan--”

“You do not get to pick the favors, Timmy. Not when I have to stay sober all weekend and sleep above a goddamn bar.”

Tim rolls his eyes. “Not my fault you live like the worst-case-scenario mid-life crisis you are having, Givens.”

“You only say that because you’ve only known me in the middle of my life,” Raylan replied almost too flippantly. “This is how it’s always been.”

He pays the girl and doesn’t wait for change, grabbing his greasy bag and walking back towards their table.

Tim pushes it, because he can’t not now. “Sad with occasional spurts of violence?”

Raylan pats his shoulder on the way out. “Takes one to know one, kid. Just hold onto that boy.”

Chris is staring at him and Tim looks down at his plate, making a face that may or may not match his confused and roiling emotions. “That got dark,” Chris says.

“Things usually do with Raylan,” Tim replies, shrugging.

“He is a hell of a man,” Chris sighs. “I’ve seen him around...but Jesus H. Christ.”

“Don’t tell him with anything but your eyes,” Tim warns, only half-joking. “My theory is he feeds off sexual tension and awkward conversations about his relative attractiveness to other people. I think he stays young that way.”

“Ha ha,” Chris says. Then he looks concerned. “He’s straight right?”

“Mostly?”

“What does that mean?”

“He’s got a thing going on with this old friend of his in Harlan. He grew up there. This guy saved his life in the mine or something? They look at each other like they either fucked once and really really want to again, or they never did and they can’t stand it.”

“Shiiit,” Chris says, drawing it out. Tim hardly ever heard a hint of southern accent from him, though he knew the guy was pretty local. “That is crazy.”

“You thought that conversation was intense?” Tim asks. “Try that, every single time we need information from the gun thugs in Harlan, but between him and a guy who talks like a baptist preacher reading from the thesaurus.”

Chris eyes bug out. “Can you film it?”

“Fuck no. I’m just trying not to get shot when he makes me ride down there with him.”

“Yeah,” Chris replies. “That sounds like a good idea.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A quick update. I live in hope of having enough time to respond to everyone's lovely comments.
> 
> Also, note my continued efforts to get anyone reading this fic who is not watching Justified to ship Raylan/Boyd without any context whatsoever. Or, you know, persuade them to get interested enough to watch the show. I didn't write 90 whole fics for nothing! :P


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the boys meet a blast from TJ's past.

TJ is wearing a blue checker-patterned summer jacket over subtly blue striped button down shirt and slim dockers. His collar is slightly open and he's wearing a pair of classic square sunglasses that Tim has never seen before. His hair is artfully disheveled and his smile is easy. 

Tim is pretty sure he dressed to impress this woman sitting across the cafe table from them. He wished he'd known TJ was going to do that. He feels under prepared. TJ had assured him the lunch was no big deal at all.

This woman, Jessa, had kissed Tim on the cheek, twice, when TJ introduced them outside the place where they'd just ordered three cups of coffee. She had smiled just as easy and then flashed TJ a rock the size of a watch battery and so they haven't talked about anything other than her wedding plans for 25 minutes straight.

Jessa is gorgeous in the way Tim finds most wealthy women he's met in TJ's company to be. Her beauty is cultivated. It's in her high quality, extremely colorful clothes, in the way her hair is perfectly straight until the very ends curl delicately, in the way she's done her make-up to look as though she isn't wearing any. It's in the way she's just a little bit too thin and her eyes look very large in her face. It's in how white her teeth are, despite the fact she's ordered coffee. It's in the way she perches on her chair, leaning forward, but not too eagerly.

Tim wonders whether she held herself the same way when she and TJ "snorted like a whole kilo of coke together" the summer they were both 22.

Tim is shaken from his reverie by Jessa's voice, vowels drawn out in a way that makes Tim think of Daisy Buchanan, saying, "But enough about me, darling. I want to know about you two." Her eyes travel between them, lingering on where TJ's rested his fingers casually against Tim's arm. 

TJ goes through the story of how they'd met. Tim's heard him do it a few times now and he always abridges things they'd both decided they don't need to share, like Tim being in the closet, and the fact that they'd fought about it then had an angry, desperate one-night stand. TJ replaces that with a night of responsible drinking, dancing, and a hint of something more, followed by a detailed description of their "romance of texts" as he likes to call it.

Jessa is charmed, of course. TJ is a very charming story-teller.

He doesn't tell her anything very personal, Tim notes. TJ had told Tim that this woman was one of his closer friends, though they'd lost touch after she moved on from the party scene. She certainly speaks to him now as though they are close, as though she can comment on the state of his life.

"But don't you think you should get out of there? Find your own place?" She was asking, when TJ admits to still living in the family's townhouse.

TJ shrugs, but his eyes are downcast. He's moved his hand away from Tim's. "It's fine for now," he says with a weak smile. "I like being near Grandma. I like the family knowing where I am. It's better than traveling so much and coming back to nothing. That's what... I think, that's what made it so hard to pull out of it all before. There wasn't really anything--"

"But you've got Tim now, right?" she interrupts him and Tim could gut her with his salad fork. "I mean," she continues, looking as though TJ's completely misunderstood her, "of course it's totally _fine_ , darling, if you want to live with your parents--"

"They don't live there," Tim says, with an edge to his tone. "The President lives in the White House. The former President is on the campaign and spends the rest of his time in South Carolina and L.A."

"Oh," she says raising her brows. Her expression is calm, with not a hint that she's realized Tim might be angry. "Have you been?"

"Where?"

"To the White House." Her smile turns strangely brittle. "TJ would never take me."

"We weren't in the White House then, darling," TJ says, as if it's an old joke. Tim feels himself making a face.

"Will you take me now?"

Tim doesn't exactly do a double-take, but he does turn his head, in a slight, aborted facsimile of the motion. Doesn't she know about TJ's conflicted feelings about the place? Even if she didn't, what a presumptuous thing to fucking say.

TJ's smile has faded. "Ask me the next time you're in D.C."

She laughs. "Oh, not for a while, I think, then. The wedding and everything. You know, I'd really love your opinion on some of the--"

"Jess, now is really not the greatest time," TJ says heavily. "I'd love to help you, but the campaign goes 'til November. Right up to the date and then who knows what we'll be in for. I just don't have the time."

She's straightened as TJ spoke, the rejection calling for some space, Tim guesses. But she smiles again, and tilts her head, reaching far across the table to grasp TJ's hand.

She says, "I'm so glad that you reached out to me, TJ. I was hoping the camera's weren't lying and you were doing so much better than the last time we spoke."

Tim glances over at TJ, whose smile has faltered again as his gaze slides away, presumably looking for the waitress. He looks back when he doesn't find her. "Yeah, I'm doing really well now, Jess."

TJ had already told Tim that the last time he'd seen Jessa, he'd come to her for money to promote the club he was trying to buy into. It was six months since she'd gone to rehab and she'd told him previously not to ask her for anything like that again. He'd been high and desperate. It hadn't been pretty. That was three years ago.

"You're so lucky to have found someone who could help you through the process, TJ," she says, looking fondly at Tim, as though they're all old friends now.

TJ smiles, stiffly, and opens his mouth, presumably to agree, but Tim can't take it. He growls, "TJ was clean when I met him. I've never even seen him blackout drunk, which is more than he can say for me. If you'd listened to anything he actually said today you would kn--"

"Baby," TJ murmurs, tugging on Tim's sleeve.

Jessa's looking at him in something like shock. Tim's sure she isn't faking. He knows delusions when he sees them and this woman has her head so far up her ass--

"It's true, Jess. I got clean on my own. Tim's been here for me, sure, but it's a two way street between us and I don't really appreciate you insinuating I couldn't have done it without him. My choices are my own and you've always been a judgmental bitch, even when you were coked out of your mind. I thought maybe it was the drugs, but I see now that's just the way you are. This was a terrible idea. Unfortunately for you, I won't be lending your nuptials any celebrity status." He stood abruptly and Tim stood with him, grinning evilly. TJ added before turning away, "I'm sorry I called, please don't contact me again."

They don't speak as the walk out of the restaurant, but they do clasp hands tightly. TJ doesn't look at Tim, leaving him to sneak glances as they wait at crosswalks. They walk five blocks before TJ leans into Tim and rests his head momentarily on Tim's shoulder as they're waiting for the little man to light up.

"Baby, I don't just make friends," he says, almost drowned out by the noise of the street. Tim really hates New York right now. "I've never been able to do that. Not real friends."

"Because of your family?" Tim asks.

"Yes and no," TJ replies tiredly. "It was my own fault for a while. But yeah, I've never been the best at telling who just wants a piece of it, you know? There was a long time I just assumed they did, so I gave them what they wanted. Even if they didn't ask for it. They always took it anyway."

"Took what?"

TJ shrugs. "The booze. The coke. The attention. I liked all that stuff too... then. Now... I just don't know how normal people do it. And I think maybe it's something you need to learn how to do. I never did."

The light goes on, but Tim doesn't move. He grips TJ's hand more tightly and he looks Tim in the eye, finally. "That's a load of bullshit, sweetheart. You and I were friends in four hours."

TJ looks at him miserably. "Yeah, but you were the one that wrote the note, Tim."

"We didn't need a note to be friends, TJ."

"I was only that friendly because I wanted to fuck."

Tim turns now, shaking his head. "You're rewriting history. You were worried about me. I knew that even then. You don't worry about people you only want to fuck."

TJ's eyes are dark, remembering. "You were so scared."

"I can't even begin to thank you. My life is completely different now." He takes TJ's hand. "It's so much better." He licks his lips and adds, "Even if we weren't together anymore. Even if something had happened--" TJ makes a pained noise. "I'm not saying--shut up for a minute, okay? TJ, you've made my life better. Not because we fucked and not because I love you. Because you were my friend. You are a good fucking friend."

TJ sniffs and Tim pulls him close. The miss the light. "Don't cry, sweetheart," he murmurs into TJ's ear.

"Fuck, let's get some food," TJ mutters, pulling slightly away. "I'm not crying."

Tim loves him so so much. “After,” he says, casually, “You want to take me to Top Shop?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Again sorry for the long wait. This isn't much of a chapter, but I hope you enjoyed it! Find me on tumblr at this name or leave a comment here!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which no one wants anyone to wait anymore.

TJ is starting to feel really uncomfortable.

His mother sits on the opposite side of the table, the remains of her dinner set out before her, a wine glass half full next to her right hand. It isn't a long table. They're eating in the Blue Room and it's set up family dinner style, though it's only Mama and TJ.

He's already spent most of the meal trying to figure out what it is she wants or needs or thinks is up with him. But he's come up with absolutely nothing so far. Everything is kind of great. 

He and Tim are fine, if chaffing a bit at their continued long distance. The race is tight, but no one's concerned yet. Everyone is busy, but everyone is used to it now. Nothing crazy has happened in kind of a while. TJ was thinking the other day they're in for something spectacularly terrible, factoring in Hammond/Barrett family luck, but nothing so far has come up.

TJ is bracing himself.

Mama pushes her plate forward, and takes a generous sip of her wine.

TJ decides to beat her to the punch. He says, "So what's going on, Mama?"

"Tommy," she says, her gaze distant, not direct, like he's used to. She does look at him a moment later, her expression pained. "I'm going to ask you something and I want you to know, I'm not asking to make you upset, or to pressure you into doing anything."

TJ frowns. He doesn't understand the pussyfooting. Why doesn't she just come out and ask? "What do you need?"

She sighs a little and gives him a weak smile. "It's a sad state of affairs when that's the question you hear most often from your children. I'm sorry about that, sweetheart. I really am."

TJ just raises his brows expectantly until she continues.

"TJ, I need you to be honest with me, all right?"

"About what?" TJ demands. He's starting to freak out now. What does she think he's done?

She looks at him sadly. "Tell me if you and Tim aren't moving forward in your relationship for political reasons. If you're waiting, trying to protect me or your brother from--"

TJ bursts out laughing.

She looks stricken at first, stopping her sentence abruptly, then confused, then a little annoyed. TJ keeps laughing, until he's wiping at his eyes.

"Mama, no," he says through short, breathless wheezes. "The only political reasons we're not 'moving forward' is the fact that I'm never home. And it's extra hard when my home's so far away from his."

"Darling, he must know he's a shoe in for some kind of transfer to DC. Even in another branch in another department. He'd be welcome anywhere--"

TJ sobers. "I can't just ask him to do that, Mama. It's his career. He can work where he wants."

"But don't you want to be closer?"

"Sure," TJ says frowning. Irritated that she thinks it would be so easy for Tim to uproot himself, that TJ has any right to ask him to do that. "But I won't push for something he isn't ready for or doesn't actually want to do. That'll be the end of us, and I'm okay for now. Really."

She opens her mouth, clearly reaching for something, wanting something else from him. 

When she doesn't speak, TJ goes on. "Tim's changed his life _a lot_ since we began this thing." He thinks of the things Tim said to him in New York and smiles softly. "I guess I didn't even know how much until recently, so I don't expect you to. But I just can't ask him for any more. It has to be because _he_ wants it. And anyway," he shrugs, "after the campaign is over, maybe I'll move down there."

Her face falls for a moment, but she recovers quickly, smoothing it over with a tender smile. 

It's not fake, TJ knows that, but he also knows she's holding back a hard truth. It would be... not bad... but not great for the family if TJ moved away from DC. It probably wouldn't even be a good idea for TJ, if he put all his eggs in Tim's basket. If things didn't work out, he'd be alone in a strange city, without his support system. He'd have put his recovery at risk. He knows himself that much.

"We're not in any rush, Mama. We're not holding back for anything but ourselves," he says quietly and finally.

"Okay," she says and he gets up to give her a hug, leaning over her as she still sits at the table. Her arms are braced hard around him, like she doesn't want to let him go. That's how she's always hugged him.

 

When TJ gets back to the townhouse, Nana is waiting up for him with red wine and cake again. He gives her a small smile and says, "Chef LeClare already filled me up with creme brulee."

"Then just drink with me," she answers, pouring him another glass. "You've got a look like she put you through the ringer."

TJ shakes his head. "She didn't mean to this time." He sits down and leans far over the counter top of the kitchen island, propping his head on his arm and elbow. He laughs softly. "She thinks Tim and I aren't moving in together because of the campaign."

"Well, she always had a hard time not making things about her. Even before she became the President." Nana gives TJ a hard look. "And aren't you?"

TJ scowls at her. " _No_."

She raises her brows at him.

He relents then, shrugging. "It's not like we're saying, 'No co-habitating until after the election,' or something. Or even, 'God, if only the campaign was over we could move in together and truly be happy!'"

Nana snorts. "Of course not."

"Right. So," TJ pauses. "Not really. It's just. I think we're not even talking about it because everything's so crazy. Or, I'm not talking about it. I don't know what Tim is thinking. Maybe--maybe he doesn't even--"

"TJ, shut up," his grandmother says.

"I told him I wanted to quit doing the speeches," TJ ignores her. "He didn't like that idea."

Nana takes a bite of cake. "You're leaving something out," she says.

"I said it when I was... grumpy about being apart so much. He said he didn't want me to quit for him. He said, 'don't make me your whole life.'" TJ sits up to take a large gulp of the wine. It's a really nice cab sav.

"That's smart, honey," she says gently.

"Yeah, I know, Nana. But then we never talked about it again. Even after we had the fight about how I know what's good for me. I know I need to work. I know I can't make Tim my whole life. I don't want that any more than he does. But I do want to be... you know, _close_ to him. More than once a fucking month."

"Maybe you tell him that then. Instead of looking like somebody kicked your puppy at all the photo ops he can't make it to."

TJ stiffens. "I do not--" he breaks off, shoving his wine glass across the table. "I can't believe you," he says. "You're working for the campaign now too?"

"Don't give me that," she retorts in her hard voice. "About the only time I see you lately is in their goddamn pictures. If you want that boy near you so bad, sonny, you get him near you any way you can. Stop sulking and talk to him like an adult."

"I'm not sulking," TJ says. "It was fine before. We can wait if he wants to!"

"Does he want to?" Nana asks throwing her hands up in the air.

TJ reaches for the wine again, jutting his jaw. He doesn't fucking know.

She smiles at him and takes her last bite of cake, savoring it, then saying, "That's what I thought. Ask him, you silly boy."

 

It sucks that Art can read the look in Tim's eyes now.

His hands aren't shaking or anything. He's not feeling hot, or cold, or feverish. He's really not feeling bad. Yet.

But he's thinking about it and he can tell Art can tell. He's pretty sure Raylan and Rachel can tell too because they're giving him a wide berth as he moves around the office filing paperwork and putting his stuff away. It's a late night for everyone because of the shit that went down earlier.

Art's watching him from his office with the blinds pulled all the way up. He'll look at his computer, quickly, whenever Tim passes by or looks over. But Tim knows he's watching him. 

He really really doesn't want to, but he knocks lightly on Art's door anyway, as he's getting ready to leave. He'll be on a flight to DC in the morning.

"You need anything else from me tonight, boss?" Tim asks as he pushes the door open, not much more than a crack.

"Come in here for a minute, Tim," Art says, pushing back slightly in his chair. He leans down to reach into his bourbon drawer.

Tim tightens his jaw, takes a breath releasing it slowly, and goes in. Wishing sorely he could beg off of whatever heart to heart Art's got in mind. He just wants to go home go to bed.

He didn't even shoot anybody today. They got caught in a firefight, but the State Police arrived just in time to take the assholes down. There were only two of them, but Tim and Raylan were boxed in, letting Raylan's poor Town Car catch all the bullets those meth heads were shooting their way.

It was all totally fine. And seriously nothing was up with Tim that he couldn't get over really quick, but now Art knew the look in his eye and he felt self-conscious as hell about it.

At Art's gestured invitation, Tim sat warily down on the sofa near the door and reached out to take the bourbon his boss had stood up and walked over to hand to him. Art leaned up against the front of his own desk and lifted his glass to Tim. Tim did the same and they both drank, without toasting to anything in particular.

Then Art fiddled with a small, stapled, stack of crisp white paper it seems he'd placed specifically so it would be right next to him, right in that moment.

"You're heading out now, huh?" Art asks him, somewhat lamely.

"Yeah," Tim says. He waits to take another sip of the bourbon. He really shouldn't have much anyway.

"And you're flight out is..." Art prompts, as if Tim hadn't told him that morning, and last week, and the month before when he'd arranged this trip.

"Tomorrow morning," Tim replies. "And I'm coming back early Monday. I'll be in the office in the afternoon."

"Right, right." Art nods like he'd forgotten. Tim knows better. Art still hasn't stopped messing with those papers.

"What's that?" Tim asks, not interested in beating around the bush anymore.

Art raises an eyebrow, glancing slyly at Tim as he straightens the papers more carefully. "Oh these papers here?"

"Yeah," Tim says, raising both his eyebrows. "Those."

Art lets the papers be finally, taking another drink then crossing his arms over his abdomen. "Oh, just the transfer papers I was expecting you to request from me several months ago."

"Transfer papers," Tim says flatly. He frowns. "You trying to get rid of me?"

Art laughs. "You trying to tell me you don't want to go?"

Tim sits back. He looks at Art in what might be a half-hurt way. 

He's not really surprised they're having this conversation. Art likes to play dad with everyone in the office--mostly the younger men, even Raylan, who told Tim he thought it was because Art only had daughters.

"Things have been crazy," Tim says, realizing as he says the words that they sound like they'd fit better in an entirely different conversation.

Art makes a really serious face and nods like that makes a ton of sense. Then he says, "Bullshit."

"Art--"

But Art isn't having that apparently. He cuts in, saying, "Tim, I'm not sure what the hell you're waiting for, but even Raylan knows things go better for you when that kid's around. Or, you know, when you're around him."

Tim opens his mouth, but Art keeps on talking. "From all the pictures in the paper when they were here, I _know_ the family loves you. I can't imagine just what the hell is stopping you here. I've had Richie Hodges on the phone about you like three times now. He wants to meet with you." Now he pauses and Tim can't even think what he was going to say before. " _If_ you file these damn papers."

Tim looks at the papers.

"Oh," he says. He blinks. "Did you tell Chief Hodges--"

"You think he doesn't know?"

Tim looks up at Art, shrugging half-heartedly. 

"Yeah, he knows. But why would he care? He needs a sharp-shooter."

"Oh," Tim says again. "Shit."

"Yeah, shit." Art's kind of smiling now. "So, I filled out most of this for you already, son, because I'm a great goddamn boss. But why don't you do me a favor and complete this before you head out?"

Tim's not really sure why it's taking him so long to process the information Art has just given him. He frowns and goes over it again. Art talked to Hodges in DC, Art filled out the transfer papers, everyone knows Tim wants to be in DC. Tim knows he wants to be in DC too--well, insofar as he's let himself think about it, he wants to.

"Art," Tim says the words as slowly as he realizes them, "I can't file any papers until after I talk to TJ. I can't... just assume."

Art shakes his head. "Fill them out now, I'll file on Monday, we'll get them back if--and I know this is not really going to happen--it doesn't work out, all right?"

Tim nods. His head's really starting to hurt. He shouldn't have begun drinking at work. Fuck.

Art leans a little towards him. "You all right, son?"

Tim flicks his eyes up to Art's, direct, professional. "Yes," he says emphatically.

Art raises his hands in the air, as if in surrender. "Have a good trip, then."

Tim takes the papers. He stands, setting his glass in their place and says, "So, I'll leave these in your mailbox on my way out?"

"Sure," Art says, turning around and grabbing his phone. He loves to do that. Make like he's busy immediately after finely combing through his employees personal lives.

Tim shakes his head. "Thanks, boss."

 

He gets home maybe an hour later and he wants to get shit-faced, but he stops, frowning at his freezer, where he's stowed a handle of cheap vodka. 

Stella, his therapist said a few weeks back he didn't always have to cope the same way. Really, Tim already knew that, but he also knows bad habits are hard to break. Stella never judged him for doing it the way he does and she only said he should stop if he thinks it might be really interfering with his life, with things that are important to him.

Tim doesn't think a hangover in the morning would be a good idea.

He eats the second half of the meatball sub he'd ordered for lunch that day and tries to go to bed.

He tells himself it's really not that bad. Because it's not.

He's still not feeling like he's there, he's not flashing back. But he feels on edge, anxious, and after twenty minutes lying in the dark, he knows he won't sleep.

He turns on the lamp on his bedside table and flips open his current book. It's a new one, sci-fi, not fantasy, and it's really cool, but he can't drop right into it like he can with his old favorites. He flops onto his back again and stares up at the ceiling. He could go get another book. He could go get something else to eat. He could even go make himself a goddamn screwdriver and drink until his body and mind relax enough to sleep.

He doesn't want to do any of those things.

He pulls out his phone and pulls TJ's contact page up. His thumb hovers over the call button, then the message button, but he doesn't press either of them.

He doesn't want to talk to TJ--well he does. But he doesn't _just_ want to talk to him. He wants to hold him. He wants to be held. He wants TJ to whisper in his ear all the shit he's thinking that he thinks is so dumb, but Tim loves anyway because it's so funny or so real or so... _TJ_ that Tim can't help but love it.

He sighs, deeply, closes his eyes, and decides.

Then, he gets dressed, grabs his weekend bag and his book and drives to DC.

 

TJ wakes up to a call from Tim. 

He frowns, concerned, as he hits the talk button and says, "Hey, I thought you supposed to be on the plane? Is there a delay?"

Tim makes a weird noise and TJ sits up immediately.

"Baby?"

"Uh," Tim says, "I'm here."

"Okay, I can hear you. Is reception bad? What's up?"

Tim makes that weird noise again. Maybe it's a laugh, but it doesn't sound all that happy. "No, I didn't take the flight. I'm here. Outside. Right now."

"What?" TJ's out of bed in a second. He hastily pulls on a pair of sweat pants and a t-shirt. He thunders down the stairs, heedless of waking Nana. "Why don't you just come in? Did you get an early flight? What the--"

He pulls the front door open wide to see Tim standing between two agents, both of whom are unfamiliar.

"Carter's not here," Tim says, lowering his phone. He looks terrible.

"Oh," TJ replies, remembering. "His mother's having surgery today." Lopez was just transferred to head up Dad's detail and Gregg has a cold or something. "None of these guys have met you before."

Carter's sub, Dellano, has Tim's Marshal's badge and military ID in his hands. He says, "Mr. Gutterson isn't on your schedule, sir, until noon today."

TJ looks at Tim again. "Did you fucking drive here?" He doesn't mean to sound angry, though he probably does. He's just really concerned. "Did you--"

"I couldn't sleep," Tim says uncomfortably. "I wanted--" He breaks off with a quick breath and a slow exhale. He gives TJ a significant look. "I knew I'd be messing with these guys," Tim says, more for their benefit than TJ's, he thinks, "So I waited in the car for a minute, trying to decide what to do, but then they knocked on the window. I just..." He winces now. "Didn't want this to be a big deal. At all."

TJ sighs. He looks at the agents. "Did you pat him down, or whatever you've got to do already?"

"Yes, sir," Dellano replies, looking distinctly uncomfortable.

"So my boyfriend can come in now?"

"Yes, sir."

TJ grabs at Tim's hand and pulls him into the house before Dellano's even done speaking.

"My shit's in the--" Tim starts after the door closes, but breaks off when TJ's arms come around him just inside the closed door. He leans in for a kiss, but TJ stops him, dragging probing fingers through his hair, letting his palms slide smoothly over his flushed cheeks. The morning air was brisk and he looks fucking exhausted.

"Tim, please talk to me," TJ says.

"Art wants me to transfer," Tim tells him, frowning. He looks afraid of something. "Here."

TJ just looks at him. He opens his mouth but he's got like five different questions and that really wasn't what he was expecting Tim to lead off with. So he just pulls Tim further into the room. They make it as far as the floor in front of the couch before Tim just sort of goes to his knees then sits right down and TJ joins him there. He waits for Tim to say something else.

"I mean, ugh," Tim groans, dropping his head in his hands. TJ rubs his back a little, shushing him softly. Tim raises his head, looking up imploringly at TJ. "It wasn't even that bad," he insists. "I wouldn't even have told you about it. But I didn't want it to turn into another weird airplane thing and I couldn't sleep anyway, so I just drove here."

"All night," TJ says in a low, even voice. Just for clarification.

"Yeah."

"That's like 8 hours."

"Yeah."

TJ sighs. "Fuck, Tim." He pulls his fingers up and under Tim's chin. Tim's staring at him like something terrible is about to happen. "Why didn't you call me?"

"I didn't want to talk," he says. Then he shakes his head, grimacing and adding, "I mean, _just_ talk. I wanted you. I wanted to be here and I didn't want to wait. I didn't want to cancel for my stupid bullshit. I want to be here--be with you. All the time."

TJ's mouth drops open. He doesn't make a sound, but he's clutching hard at Tim's arms, which are braced on his thighs. They're practically in each other's laps.

"Everybody knows you're good for me. I know you're good for me. I don't wanna wait anymore. I don't even know what we're waiting for, do you? I want to be here. I want the transfer, TJ. I want _you_."

An uncertain emotion fills TJ up. He think it might be relief, or something like that mixed with joy and rainbows and like eight other things. Tears come to his eyes and he squints so he can see Tim's face when he says, "I want you too, dummy."

Tim's motherfucking gorgeous. They kiss and they sniffle and taste each other's happy tears. Tim buries his face in TJ's shoulder and heaves a sigh. TJ runs his fingers through his hair.

"You need to sleep, baby," he says.

"I couldn't without you," Tim replies. TJ presses his lips to Tim's temple.

"Well, you're here now. Let's stay in bed all day."

Tim smiles and groans, "That sounds amazing."

TJ thinks it really really does.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, this took a long time and I'm really sorry about that. I've been sitting on this business, waiting for inspiration for an epilogue to come. It hasn't. For like two months. So I'm thinking an epilogue must not be necessary.
> 
> Also, I plan to write some tiny coda-style fics about these two anyway. In the future. Probably.
> 
> Thank so much to jaegerpilot for this fun idea and thornfield_girl for being an amazing beta.
> 
> This fic was a blast to write and just what I needed when I began it. I'd had a long drought of creativity and because these characters so clearly needed each other in the dumbest most angsty way and I didn't have to *care* so much if it was elegantly plotted or incredibly well-written, it was a delightful breeze.
> 
> Thanks to everyone who commented and gave kudos. Your support and your lovingly copious praise mean a hell of a lot.
> 
> Love, Morgan.

**Author's Note:**

> This is freezerbraun on tumblr's and and Graham Yost's and Sebastian Stan's fault--and I thank them profusely.
> 
> This is the only chapter that's written. More will come (probably), but I make no promises how much. 
> 
> This is probably the only instance in my writings for which comments might actually make a difference. Keep this in mind, if you want to see more.
> 
> Thanks for reading!


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